


Sinners & Saints

by AlexisDanaan



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Engineer!Darcy, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mutant Powers, Mutant!Darcy, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 10:19:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 78,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2106027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexisDanaan/pseuds/AlexisDanaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy's always been the kind of girl to dive in head first, but sometimes that's how you end up paralysed from the neck down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_“We've all got meanness in us...But we have some good in us too._

_And the only thing worth living for is the good.” –Billie Letts_

 

 **_-_ ** **_✮_ ** **_-_ **

Darcy looked up at the sudden burst of noise, audible even over the music blasting through her headphones, and put down the soldering gun she was holding. Pausing in her work, she pulled one earbud out and heard a shout.

“We need a doctor! JARVIS, where’s the doctor?”

She was on her feet in an instant, hauling ass out in to the hall. There were three men, two holding up the one in the middle, making their way as fast as they could towards her and the medical lab at the end of the hall. For a second, Darcy stared stupidly at them, her eyes fastened on the man in the middle. His head hung between his shoulders, blood evident even on the black leather of his armour, but it was the silver metal of his one arm, slung across the shoulders of one of the others, that really caught her attention.

“Medical is being prepped for your arrival, Captain,” came the smooth reply of JARVIS’ voice. It snapped her out of her daze.

Turning on her heel, Darcy ran the short distance down the hall and shoved the medical lab door open, holding it for them. They shuffled through awkwardly, the dark haired man hanging limply between the two of them, as a handful of doctors in scrubs rushed up to them with a stretcher. The two hauled the injured man on to it and Darcy was surprised to see that he was not unconscious, just incapable of holding himself up. His head lolled to the side, facing her, but it was clear that whatever he was seeing, it wasn’t the here and now.

The doctors rushed him away, leaving the two men standing there, their hands suddenly empty. Both of them were filthy, and looked like they could use a little medical attention themselves, but no other doctors seemed to be forthcoming. The blond suddenly seemed to deflate, and he staggered, holding one hand out to brace himself against the wall.

“You okay, man?” the other asked. Personally, Darcy thought that someone should be asking _him_ that question. While the blond looked dirty and immeasurably tired, his friend was definitely worse for wear. He was bleeding from several small wounds on his chest, back, and arms, and even under his dark complexion she could see bruises forming almost everywhere skin showed.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I just…” Instead of answering, he put his back to the wall and slid down until his ass hit the floor.

The other man walked up to him and copied the motion, sliding down until they were sitting side by side. He clapped his friend on the arm. “He’s gonna be all right. Stark employs the best.”

The blond nodded, but didn’t say anything. Darcy knew that the reassurance was probably less than helpful, even if it was true. Unnoticed, she turned and slipped out, heading back for Jane’s lab.

Her work, the motherboard for Jane’s new spectrometer, lay abandoned on the table as she headed for her snack drawer. Darcy kept a variety of things in the lab—not just Pop Tarts—because it was incredibly difficult to get Jane to leave for a meal when she was on to something and there simply wasn’t enough nutritional content in Pop Tarts to sustain anyone for long. She grabbed a box of the strawberry flavoured ones, along with several granola bars, and stuffed them into the pouch of her hoodie. Underneath one of the spare desks was a case of bottled water, and she snagged a couple of those as well before making her way back to medical.

They were sat exactly where she left them, only this time they looked up at her as she entered.

“Um, are you hungry?” she asked, holding up the box of Pop Tarts and the two bottles of water.

“Pop Tarts?” the battered man grinned at her. He and his friend were in a neck n’ neck race for who was the filthiest. Or the hottest. At least they were on equal footing, Darcy thought. “I haven’t had those in years.”

“They’re pretty much the only thing I can shove into my bosses mouth when she’s on a science bender.” Darcy reached into her pouch and pulled out the granola. “But there’s also these if you crave a little, you know, actual sustenance.”

The dark skinned man smiled again, albeit tiredly, but blondie simply stared at her as if he didn’t understand what was happening. His face was streaked with dirt and blood, his clothes ripped and stained with more blood and god knew what else. Clearly, they had just come from a fight.

It was an aspect of living in the Avengers Tower that Darcy had yet to experience.

“I’m Sam Wilson,” handsome and chatty said, holding out his hand. “I’d get up to greet you properly, but I’m honestly not sure if I can.”

She gave him a smile, but instead of reaching forward to shake his hand, she stuffed the box of Pop Tarts into his grip. “I’m Darcy Lewis.”

“This is Steve,” Sam added, nodding his head towards the other man.

At the sound of his name, handsome but silent blinked and seemed to come to himself. “My apologies,” he said, his voice raspy. “Steve Rogers.” He held out his hand.

Again, Darcy avoided the handshake, this time with a bottle of water. Luckily, neither of them seemed too alert and didn’t notice. “There’s more in the lab if you want,” she said, passing Sam the other one. “Here, take the granolas, too. I’ve got a massive box stashed away in my drawer.”

“Thanks,” Sam said, taking them from her and tossing two into Steve’s lap. “Eat, man. He’s going to be in there for a while.”

Steve did as he was told, fumbling with the wrapper.

“I’ll be in the lab across the way,” Darcy said, jerking her thumb in the direction of Jane’s domain, “so, uh, just let me know if you need anything, okay?”

Sam gave her a small smile and a nod. “Thanks, Darcy. We appreciate it.”

Steve looked up and gave her the world’s most forced smile, practically baring his teeth at her. “Yes, thank you,” he said quietly.

“No problem,” Darcy replied with a small shrug. “I hope your friend is okay.”

She slipped quietly out of the medical lab once more, but when she sat down at her table and picked up the soldering gun, she only managed to stare at the half-wired motherboard.

Logically, she had known that living in the Avengers Tower, the same tower that the Avengers often lived and worked in, meant that she’d see people come in injured, maybe even dead. Seeing is believing, she supposed, because she had never been uncomfortable with the idea before then.

Giving her head a shake, she forced herself to focus on the work in front of her but she left her ear buds out just in case.

 ** _-_** **_✮_** **_-_**

Darcy should have known better than to wear sleeveless tops in the lab, or anywhere for that matter. It was practically asking for an accident, but even so, she was still surprised when the bare hand clapped down on her shoulder, startling her out of her zone.

The rush of emotions and scattered thought charged straight through her mind, making her wrench herself away from the touch instinctively. Nearly falling off of her stool in the effort, she turned and pulled the ear buds out of her ears to find Clint Barton dressed in civvies and holding his hands up in the universal gesture of peace.

“Hey there, Lewis. You’re a little jumpy. You all right?”

Darcy tried to focus on the words coming out of his mouth instead of the lingering taste of his emotions in the back of her mind. He was content today, calm and full of good humour, which was a good thing for both of them. Negative emotions were harder to dispel.

“Yeah, I’m fine. You…you just startled me, is all,” Darcy managed.

“You sure?” Barton asked, eyes scrutinizing her, trying to piece together the puzzle before him.

They weren’t particularly close, her and Clint, but she knew better than to underestimate his intellect. The man’s job was to notice the details and the nuances. If she had to put a label on their interactions, she’d call it an acquaintanceship with the possibility of friendship. She wasn’t particularly close with any of the Avengers—or at least the ones she’d met—mostly because she and Jane had only been living in the lap of luxury for a few months and the Avengers were usually scattered unless there was an alien sea slug that needed killing.

“I’m sure,” she said, sliding back into her seat. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Barton snorted and pulled a stool over from one of the other desks so he could sit across from her, various pieces of a spectrometer’s heart spread out on the table between them. “You mean ‘cause of S.H.E.I.L.D?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of all your dirty laundry being aired, actually.”

“Yes, well, that’s a bit inconvenient, but not the end of the world.”

“I suppose not,” Darcy agreed. Her skills in hacking were pretty limited, but she knew people from college who could create an entirely new country with a laptop and an internet connection so, really, she shouldn’t be surprised that the spy sitting across from her was unconcerned. “Hey, DUM-E!” she called out. “Come here, buddy.”

The familiar whir of the robot came from behind as DUM-E rolled over to her and promptly stuck his claw in her lap. She patted him gently, running her fingers over the dark metal. “I need you to hold something for me, okay?”

He made a little chirruping sound and straightened, opening his claw for her. Darcy placed the motherboard in his claw. “Hold it gently for me, bud, and follow me.”

She led him over to the main body of the spectrometer, calling over her shoulder. “So what can I do you for, Barton? Or are you just here for Jane’s charming personality?”

At the sound of her name, Jane’s dishevelled head popped up, just barely visible over the edge of a computer screen. “What’s that?” she asked.

“Noooothing,” Darcy called back, shooting a grin at Clint, who shook his head at her, a small smile pulling at his lips. “When was the last time you ate, boss lady?”

“Uhh…earlier,” Jane muttered, her attention already back on the screen.

“Barton, third drawer down. Throw something at her.”

Turning her attention to DUM-E, Darcy dropped to the ground and scooted half under the spectrometer, instructing the robot on where to hold the motherboard so she could begin attaching the wires she’d soldered on before and then mount it. The best thing about her design? It stood on four legs, making it easier for her to crawl about underneath it. Forget whether the thing actually _worked_ or not. She could worry about that later—when Jane was having a meltdown, most likely.

“So I heard you saw the Captain bring in the Winter Soldier.”

“I knew you’d get to it eventu—wait, what?”

Darcy did the awkward crab out from under the spectrometer and stared at Barton. “Captain? As in Captain America?”

“You didn’t know?” he asked incredulously.

“He said his name is Steve Rogers!”

He looked at her like she was patently stupid. “Did you sleep through high school history class, Lewis?”

Darcy tipped her head to one side. “I might have skipped most of it and cheated on the final?”

Barton barked out a sharp, short laugh. “How’d you pull that one off?”

“Wrote the answers on my thigh and wore a skirt,” she said, smirking. “My teacher was a dude. What’s he going to do? Tell me to lift my skirt? Nuh-uh.”

That brought out a true and proper laugh from him, making him shake his head as he crouched down to her level. 

“I think you’re the only person in America who doesn’t know who he is.”

“Hey,” she protested. “I know who Captain America is. Well, I know the important bits. You know, World War II, Hydra, all that fun stuff, but c’mon! Steve Rogers is a pretty common name, Barton.”

“Not in this building it ain’t.”

Darcy sighed and lay back down, wiggling under the machine again. “I’m not having this discussion with you,” she told him resolutely.

He laughed again and poked her knee. “I thought you’d want to know that his friend, Barnes, pulled through surgery.”

That gave her pause, and she smiled to herself. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

“Yeah, I’m also supposed to tell you that Captain America would like to see you at your earliest convenience.”

“ _What?”_ Normally, Darcy liked to think of herself as fairly calm, relatively level headed, and definitely open minded, but the knowledge that she’d met _Captain America_ and apparently missed the memo had her a little more flustered than usual. Instead of thinking, she reacted, sitting straight up and promptly banging her face off the underbelly of Jane’s beast. “Ow. Shit. Fuck!”

DUM-E made a concerned chirruping sound while Barton laughed at her. Again. She felt a hand on her leg, over her jeans thank god, and then she was being hauled out from under the spectrometer, her dignity left somewhere behind.

“I can do that part myself, you know,” she said sharply, one hand going up to her forehead where she’d walloped herself.

“Can you? I’m not so sure,” Barton said, offering his hand to haul her the rest of the way up.

Darcy glanced at his hand for a second before steeling herself mentally. She threw up the walls in her mind, trying to block out the inevitable surge of his mind into hers the moment their skin made contact. His hand clasped around hers, warm and firm, and he pulled her up easily. She braced herself against the intrusion in her mind, trying not to focus on the thoughts and emotions that slipped through the cracks in her walls.

“Thanks,” Darcy said, dropping his hand the moment she was on her feet.

“I don’t have cooties, you know,” he said, arching an eyebrow at her.

She flushed bright red. “I, uh. I know that,” she stammered, turning on her heel to face DUM-E. “Hey bud. We’re gonna have to put that down for a bit. I have to go talk to Captain America. 

DUM-E released the motherboard as Darcy disconnected the few wires she’d managed to get done and brought it back to her desk. Barton was a detriment to her work ethic, but she saw that Jane had an empty silver packet on her desk, indicating that he had indeed given the boss lady something to eat so there was that, at least.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

He pointed up. “Medical.”

She frowned, following him as he led the way out of the lab anyway. “But medical is down the hall?”

“That’s the emergency. Surgeries and such. Recovery rooms are upstairs one level. Stark has a mini-hospital in this joint, though I don’t know why that surprises me anymore.”

“Oh.”

The elevator took them up the one floor without prompting, affirming Darcy’s belief that JARVIS listened in on everything, which only meant that she couldn’t afford to slip up again like she had with Barton earlier. He’d surprised her; it was her own fault for getting lost in her work and the music pumping into her ears, but mostly for walking around in a sleeveless top. Normal people slapped each other on the back, the nudged each other with their arms, and generally engaged in skin to skin contact all the time. Darcy knew this, but she’d become complacent in the belief that the only people who really came to the lab were her and Jane—and Jane certainly wasn’t the touchy feely type. Their skin to skin contact was the minimal brushes between people exchanging a pen, or handing over a cup of coffee, and even then Darcy had nearly perfected the art of passing an object without skin contact.

The elevator doors opened to small lobby surrounded by glass walls and manned by a receptionist’s desk. She looked up as they arrived, but upon seeing Barton, merely nodded and pressed a button that presumably unlocked the doors behind her. Together, they walked through and into exactly what Barton had said: a mini-hospital, only shinier than any she’d ever seen. 

“Cap.”

Darcy hadn’t even noticed the man down the hall, standing with their back to them, until Barton’s call made him turn around. It was the same Steve Rogers she’d met only four days prior, but he looked a world better. Gone were the shadows under his eyes, and the lanky look to his hair. The cuts on his face had healed, and the strain that had been in his eyes was all but non-existent. When he looked at her, he was actually able to focus on her.

“Miss Lewis,” he said, striding forward, his hand outstretched. “I wanted to thank you, for before, and apologise. Sam says my manners left much to be desired.”

Once again Darcy steeled herself for the touch. Captain America’s grip was firm and warm, dwarfing her hand for maximum skin contact. His emotions buffered against her mental shields and she could taste his anxiety mixed up with relief and sorrow in the back of her mind. His face, however, revealed none of that.

“Oh, it’s, uh, it’s all right,” Darcy stammered, releasing his hand quickly. “I, um, understand.” She blinked a few times, trying to cast away the remnants of his touch. “How, uh, how is he?”

Steve turned towards a large window set in the wall. Darcy followed his gaze and found a rather ornate hospital room painted in soft pastels. Its sole occupant was the man they’d brought in; the one Barton had called the Winter Soldier.

He lay on the bed as if he were dead. Were it not for the machine next to him monitoring his heartbeat, Darcy might have feared that he’d kicked it while no one was looking. The sheets had been brought up to his chest and tucked under his arms, his hands laying flat against the bed with not a wrinkle to be seen. Her eyes came to a stuttering halt on the gleaming silver of his left arm; the engineer in her wanted to examine it. Was there an arm underneath it, or was it a true prosthetic? Did it work like Stark’s Iron Man suits, or was it attached to external, manufactured neurotransmitters?

“He hasn’t regained consciousness yet, but they tell me that he should,” Steve said. His voice sounded awfully neutral for someone who had a well of emotions swirling around inside him. Darcy knew, even without having touched him, that this Winter Soldier man was important to him; it had been written all over his face when they brought him in, had been broadcasted in the panicked edge to his voice as he shouted for a doctor. Why, then, was he acting now as if the man inside the room were nothing more than an acquaintance?

“Um, excuse me, Agent Barton?”

They all turned around to see the receptionist standing there, a puzzled expression on her face. “Uh, there’s a robot at my desk…I think…I think it wants your attention?” She spoke as if she couldn’t quite believe those words were coming out of her mouth. As one, Darcy and Barton turned to where the front doors were located and sure enough, there was DUM-E, visible through the glass walls. Beside her, Clint chuckled.

“Oh, no, DUM-E,” Darcy groaned.

“Isn’t that the robot that Stark threatens to take apart all the time?” Steve asked, coming to stand beside them.

“Yep,” Clint said, drawing out the word. He looked to the receptionist, muscular arms crossed over his chest. “It ain’t me he wants. This here’s his lady love.”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “I better go to him before he breaks the glass or something.” She turned to Steve. “I’m glad your friend is doing better, Captain.”

“Thank you, Miss Lewis. And thank you again for the other night,” he said, all sincerity. It struck her as a little odd that he would ask her to come up to the medical ward just so he could thank her for giving him some junk food and water, but she wasn’t about to hazard a guess about superheroes and their quirks. 

“It really wasn’t a problem,” she told him. Behind her came the chirruping sound that DUM-E used to communicate, quickly followed by a few hard raps on the glass. “I better go!”

She turned and booked it for the front doors, DUM-E’s one eye on her the entire time. When she stepped out into the lobby he rolled right up to her, pressing his claw and most of his burnished steel body against her side.

“You’re such a trouble maker,” she told him fondly. “I can’t leave you alone for ten minutes, can I?”

He chirruped at her again, his claw reaching out to gently take her hand. Darcy sighed and rolled her eyes. “Flirting will get you nowhere, mister. C’mon. We’ve got work to finish.”

 ** _-_** **_✮_** **_-_**

“Foster! Foster, dammit, where are you?”

Darcy recognised the sound of Tony Stark’s voice and slid out from underneath the spectrometer. She’d finally gotten the motherboard hardwired into it, but every time she tried to turn it on the damn thing overheated and she’d spent the past two hours trying to figure out where she’d fucked up.

“She’s not here, surprisingly,” Darcy called. “I’m pretty sure she’s comatose in her apartment. At least, she better be if she knows what’s good for her.” Darcy paused. “Which she doesn’t, so you might find her awake up there.”

“Lewis?” Stark approached, staring down at her while she sat up, dusting herself off. Thankfully, he didn’t offer a hand to help her to her feet, but that was mostly because he was Tony Stark and generally oblivious about things that don’t revolve around him. “What are you doing tinkering with the toys? I thought you were a coffee and paperwork kind of gopher.”

“Geez, thanks Stark,” she said, rolling her eyes as she got up. “And don’t let Jane hear you calling her equipment toys, she may throw something at your head.”

Stark snorted. “Foster? I can totally take her. She’s what, 100lbs soaking wet? And you haven’t answered my question. Since when do you work on the toys?”

“Since, I dunno, always,” Darcy retorted, heading for her work bench and the schematics on the spectrometer. “Why do you think Jane hired me in the first place?”

“’Cause you’ve got a great rack?” Stark mused, following her.

“How many sexual harassment lawsuits have you had filed against you?”

“Are we talking this year, or my entire lifetime? Because I’m not so good with keeping track. You’d have to ask Pep.”

Darcy rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips. Stark’s nonchalance didn’t bother her as much as it did Jane, and she certainly didn’t mind him being the asshole that he was as long as he was directing it somewhere other than her. He expressed himself with snark and sass, which was something she could relate to.

“Seriously, though. You work on that?” he asked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

Darcy spotted the schematics and plopped her ass down on a stool to go over them. “I make that, actually,” she told him, half of her attention on the paper before her. “That’s why Jane hired me. Culver wouldn’t give her the funding to get real equipment, I told her I’d make her equipment if she signed off on my science credits.” She looked up at him with a shrug. “It was either that or try to pass Organic Chemistry, which not even the actual science nerds do with any consistent success.”

“Orgo?” Stark echoed, surprised. “Why the hell would they make a political science major take organic chem?”

Darcy wrinkled her nose. “It was my own fault. I waited too late to register for a science course and I had to have one in order to get my degree. Organic Chemistry was the only one that still had space. It was that or crazy Dr. Foster’s internship. You see my dilemma.”

Stark, looking suitably impressed, leaned over and snatched the paper out of her hands. “Oi! Just because you own the building doesn’t mean you can do anything you want,” she snapped at him, reaching for the paper.

“Technically it does,” he said. “Hey, why do you have the power source routing through here?” He turned the page to her, pointing a finger at a few nearly illegible scribbles.

“I don’t.” Darcy frowned at it, taking the paper back from Stark. “This isn’t what I…” She broke off with a sigh. “ _Jane_.”

“What did Foster do?” Stark asked as Darcy stood up and stomped her way over to the spectrometer.

“She tried to do something other than science,” Darcy grumbled uncharitably, throwing herself to the floor and crawling under the machine. “DUM-E! I need light!”

“DUM-E? Seriously? This is where you’ve been?” Stark sounded incredulous. “Lewis, you stole my goddamn robot!”

“I didn’t steal him,” she argued as the robot in question appeared on the other side of the machine, closest to her head. His claw held a flashlight, which he conveniently angled for her underneath the spectrometer. “He just likes me better than you.”

“I made him!”

“And look at how well that worked out for you.”

“You and Foster are both a headache!” Stark groused. Darcy could hear the sound of his feet pacing just beyond her limited line of sight. “She goes and orders this insanely expensive motor, which I could have made for her by the way, and doesn’t even ask me first! I mean, I know she has a budget and all, but this is still my money! And you! You steal my robot!”

“Actually, I ordered that insanely expensive motor,” Darcy told him, yanking on the wires hanging above her head. “Mostly because we have a massive budget and I didn’t want to spend two weeks making it.”

“God dammit, Lewis! I ought to lock you up with ‘crazy eyes’ upstairs!” Stark shouted. “There’s a protocol for a reason. Wait, how did you even place the order without my permission?”

Darcy wiggled a little bit until the top of her head poked out from under the spectrometer so she could see Stark. “Who is ‘crazy eyes’?”

“That’s besides the point.” He glared at her. “Did JARVIS let you place this order?”

“Yep. Who is ‘crazy eyes’?”

Stark looked genuinely upset, though Darcy didn’t really know why. Technically, she hadn’t broken any of the rules. They had a budget, the price of the motor was within the budget, and Jane—the trustee of said budget—had approved it. Tony Stark was apparently very attached to his money.

“JARVIS!” Stark shouted. “Explain yourself!”

“Dr. Foster approved of the order, sir, and her access has not been restricted in this manner. There was no need to inform you,” JARVIS replied.

“But I could have _made_ it,” Stark insisted, more than a little bit of a whine in his voice.

“So cancel the order and make it yourself,” Darcy snapped. “Geez, why is this such a big deal? It’s not like you don’t have oodles of money, Stark.”

“This has nothing to do with the money, Lewis,” he replied instantly. “I could have done a far superior job on that motor is all.”

“Sir has been bored, as of late, Miss Lewis,” JARVIS chimed in. “I believe he would welcome a task, even one with so little challenge.”

Darcy looked to Stark who curled his lip in disdain but didn’t deny the claim. “Seriously? You’re chewing me out because you’re bored?”

“This is not me chewing you out, Lewis, trust me.” He sat down next to DUM-E before swivelling on his butt so that he could lie back on the floor, his head next to hers. “So what are we doing?”

Darcy wiggled back under the spectrometer. “ _I’m_ trying to undo the damage Jane has done.”

“Wow. She did make a mess of this. I’m surprised it even turns on,” he murmured. “DUM-E! Hand me that light!”

Darcy grimaced to herself as Stark’s hands joined in with hers, unplugging wires and putting them back where they belonged. She made a valiant effort at not touching his bare skin, but with him in a sleeveless shirt and both of them working within a confined space, it was inevitable that they brushed against each other. It was fortunate that Stark was so absorbed with fixing Jane’s fuck-up that his mind was focused on the task at hand, his emotions calm and unobtrusive, though he did mutter occasionally to himself.

“That ought to do it,” Stark grunted some time later, pushing himself out from under the machine. “Flip the switch, Lewis.”

Darcy scooted out and got to her knees, powering up the machine. She sighed happily when it began to hum with life, all of its lights blinking in the right places, and nothing overheating.

“Thanks, Stark.”

“Yeah, don’t get used to it,” he said, wiping his hands on his pants. They looked like they were the expensive other half to a suit at one point, but they were now covered in fine layer of dust and dirt from the floor. “I don’t descend from on high to mingle with the commoners very often.”

“Duly noted, Scar,” Darcy said dryly.

“I believe the name you’re looking for is Mufasa,” Stark corrected. “Or just King would suffice, really. I’m not picky.”

Darcy snorted derisively and began picking up the tools she’d left discarded around the base of the spectrometer.

“Hey, don’t get lippy with me lab monkey. I can still have you locked up with ‘crazy eyes’.” He grinned at her. “Actually, considering that you ordered that monstrosity of a motor instead of making it, when you obviously can, I think you should do a 48 hour psych hold. Just in case.”

“Who the hell is crazy eyes, Stark!?”

“You don’t know?” he asked, twiddling his fingers towards the ceiling. “Capsicle’s geriatric friend. You know. ‘Crazy eyes’.”

Darcy frowned at him. “He’s awake?”

Stark made a face, tipping his head from side to side. “If that’s what you want to call it, sure.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged, turning fluidly on one heel, and headed for the door. “He hasn’t said a word. Seems pretty DOA if you ask me,” he said, tapping his temple. “Oh, and Lewis.” He spun again, pointing a finger at her. “Don’t order any more stupid motors, got it?”

Darcy waved him off. “Yeah, yeah. Got it.”

“You better!” he called over his shoulder, leaving the lab and Darcy behind.

There could only be one person Stark was referring to, though she didn’t really understand why Stark would call him Steve’s geriatric friend. Or why Barton had called him the Winter Soldier.

Darcy bit her lip, hesitating for a moment. There was plenty of work to be done, and she probably ought keep her nose out from where it didn’t belong. It was most likely superhero business, something that was decidedly not _her_ business. Then again, with the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D and the Black Widow’s spectacular info dump, most things were public knowledge these days.

It took her less than a minute to make a decision. A handful of quick steps took her to computer desk and before she could think about it too hard, she was looking up everything she could find on the Winter Soldier.

She stayed there, one hand on the mouse, for so long that her eyes began to burn and her back ached from being held in one position. By the time she was done, her stomach tingled with nerves at the thought of being so close to that man, even when he was mostly unconscious. The footage of Steve fighting him, their vicious hand-to-hand combat in the middle of the street, looped constantly in her mind. The list of his credited kills, the sheer length of that list, not to mention how far back it went chronologically, boggled her mind and left a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach.

That man was sitting in a room on the floor above her.

Darcy looked up at the ceiling hesitantly.

What was that metal arm capable of? Were they safe, any of them? She hadn’t spent a lot of time outside of his hospital room but unless that glass window was made of the same shit they put on space ships she wasn’t sure they weren’t all living on borrowed time.

Then again, Stark had called him ‘crazy eyes’ and indicated that he wasn’t all there. Darcy snorted at the thought. Just what they needed in the building; an unstable assassin, because that was so much better than a rational one.

Darcy brought a hand up to rub at her face, massaging her tired, dry eyes. A glance at the clock told her it was past midnight and she really ought to get the hell out of there. Jane would no doubt be down soon enough—because that woman’s sleep schedule was fucked _right_ up—and if Darcy were still around she’d be suckered into helping with something or the other.

Pulling a drawer open, Darcy grabbed a violently bright post-it pad and scribbled a note:

_Jane,_

_No more touchy-touchy of the machinery. I had to fix your ‘improvement’. Next time you might blow the place sky high, and that would suck. You do SCIENCE! I do ENGINEERING! Kay? Kay._

_Love,_

_D_

She slapped it on the front of the spectrometer. It stuck out like a beautiful neon orange thumb on the silver of the machine and Darcy felt confident that Jane would see it immediately.

“JARVIS? Can you kill the lights?” she asked, grabbing her bag from her desk and slinging the strap over her shoulder.

“Of course, Miss Lewis.”

“Thanks, J.”

The lab darkened as soon as she stepped out, and Darcy closed the door behind her, making sure that it locked. When she reached the elevator she barely had to wait before it was opening for her.

“To your quarters, Miss Lewis?”

The word ‘Yes’ was halfway out of her mouth before Darcy paused, a thought occurring to her.

“Oh, that’s a bad, bad idea,” she muttered to herself.

She bit down on her lip again, a terrible habit she had when she was nervous or upset, or in this case: indecisive. She often walked around with one lip redder than the other because of it.

“JARVIS…Take me up to medical.”

There was a pause, barely the span of a heartbeat, but then the doors slid shut soundlessly and JARVIS intoned, “As you wish, Miss Lewis.”

She didn’t have much time to reconsider her decision. One floor took less than thirty seconds with Stark elevators and before she’d really thought much about it, the doors were sliding open to the sleek lobby with the glass walls.

Unlike the other day, there was no receptionist at the desk, and when Darcy walked over to the door and pulled, it didn’t budge. She was about to open her mouth and ask JARVIS if he would let her in when she remembered the receptionist pushing a button on her desk. It didn’t take her long to find it.

The halls were quiet and dimly lit, and Darcy wondered if there was a nurse on duty that she would have to explain herself to. There had to be some sort of staff since there was at least one patient on the floor, but they were nowhere to be seen. Darcy counted her blessings as she retraced her earlier steps to the room that had housed the Winter Soldier the last time she was there.

At first, she thought he must have been moved. His room was dimly lit, just a small light above the nightstand giving off any light. The heart monitor had been removed, and the bed had definitely been used, but of the Soldier there was no sign. With a sigh, Darcy pressed one hand against the glass, leaning into it. She was simultaneously relieved and disappointed. Part of her had definitely wanted to—

Movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she pressed the side of her face to the glass, looking down.

There. She could see the top of a dark head, moving ever so slightly. Stark’s words, and the way he’d tapped his temple, suddenly made perfect sense. The Winter Soldier that she’d read about would have definitely noticed her, probably the moment she hit the button at the receptionist’s desk, but this man didn’t seem to be aware of his surroundings at all.

She glanced at the door to her right.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” she muttered before blowing out her breath in a sharp gust. “JARVIS? Am I allowed in that room?”

“I’m afraid not, Miss Lewis. Access is restricted to medical officials only.”

She looked back at the top of that head, debating the words that danced on the tip of her tongue. It would change things for her, drastically. It could see her out on her ass, but that was really a worst-case scenario. Darcy had a hard time believing that the Avengers would be anti-mutant considering that they were pretty much one bearded lady shy of being a circus act themselves. Still, the instinct to protect herself ran deep, and she’d never forgotten the repercussions of ignoring her mama’s advice.

Closing her eyes, Darcy turned away from the window, determined to walk away, but her feet wouldn’t move.

“Shit,” she sighed. Turning back, she reached for the door handle, holding the cool metal in her hand. “JARVIS, I need you to let me in there.”

“Miss, only medical off—”

“I can help him,” she interrupted. “Or at least I think I can help him. Does that count as being a medical official?”

“I’m afraid it does not, Miss Lewis.”

Darcy fought the instinct to stomp her foot like a child. “J, I can help him. Please.” She looked up, turning her head this way and that until she found a camera high up near the ceiling. She looked directly at it. “I don’t want to cause trouble J, I promise. I just want to help him, and I think I can.”

For the longest time, JARVIS didn’t reply, and Darcy felt incredibly stupid standing there, waiting for an invisible AI to respond to her. She was determined, however, to wait him out, and before she lost her nerve, she heard the distinctive click of a lock opening. She tried the handle, and it turned smoothly in her palm.

“Thank you, J,” she breathed, letting herself into the room.

In retrospect, Darcy knew it was a stupid ass decision. The Winter Soldier was a deadly assassin, probably the most lethal person she’d ever been in the same room with, and he was decidedly unbalanced. She could have died in that instant, but fate, or perhaps it was luck, was on her side that night.

The man in the corner didn’t even look up at her entrance. His hooded gaze was fixed on the floor in front of him, his arms locked around his knees, his body rocking to a rhythm found only in his mind. She felt a sharp stab of pity for this man that she’d read about. If the information she’d found was true—and she had no reason to doubt it—then he’d been tortured in the worst sort of way.

Slowly, very slowly, Darcy approached him, though her caution was ultimately unnecessary. He was trapped inside his head, that much quickly became obvious.

“Buck—” He flinched violently. It was the first sign that he was even remotely aware of anything around him. Darcy paused, unsure of how to continue.

The thing was, Darcy knew she had no business being in the room with him. There were rules for the kind things that Darcy could do, and she knew that. Her mama had drilled it into her head as a child, mostly for her daughter’s safety but also because her mama was big on manners. A person’s thoughts were their most private possession, and people like Darcy should never invade a mind. It was the most horrendous violation of privacy.

But the only way she could think of to help the man before her was to do just that. He couldn’t give her permission, and even if he could, she wasn’t sure it would really count.

“I—I…I’m Darcy,” she whispered, slowly lowering herself to her butt in front of him. Her bag slipped off of her shoulder unnoticed, and she scooted a little bit closer to him. “Can you hear me? Bucky?”

He flinched again, but not until she had called him by his childhood nickname. Darcy took note of it, but considered it a positive sign. He was listening, though he didn’t seem to be capable of responding.

“I…I don’t know if you can hear me but…I’d like to help you, if I can,” she told him, her voice soft. “I’m a bit…different. I have a…” She trailed off. Her mama had called it her ‘gift’ but Darcy had never seen it that way. “I guess you could call it a skill or a quirk, if you’re being generous.”

She gnawed on her bottom lip again, studying him. He didn’t acknowledge a word she’d said, but his rocking had slowed a bit. His eyes were still focused on the same spot, even though it was now covered by her legs.

Sucking in a breath, her stomach swooping with nerves, she whispered, “If I touch your skin, I’ll be able to hear your thoughts.” She paused, watching his face for any reaction. Did he have any context for what she was telling him? Mutants were not commonly known of when he had been young, but who knew what he’d been exposed to between then and now? “That’s my quirk. I’m a touch telepath,” she told him, “kind of like a Vulcan, though I don’t think you know what that means.” His face remained blank, his eyes fixated on that one spot.

Slowly, she reached with one hand, her fingers stretched out and shaking. Her body was a jumbled mess of nerves and fear. The one other time she’d done this, it hadn’t been nearly as nerve wracking. Then again, that had been a fellow college student, not the intelligence world’s most feared assassin. Darcy’s fingers were only a few centimeters away from his skin when she forced herself to take a deep breath and push away her own emotions. It wouldn’t do to for _her_ thoughts and feelings to bleed into _him_.

“Please don’t kill me,” she whispered.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she closed the gap between them, her fingers making contact with the warm skin of his human hand.

The darkness rushed up at her, sudden and swift, as if it had been waiting for her all this time. It surrounded her entirely, enveloping her before she could even draw breath and blocking out all of her senses. For a second there was nothing, nothing but the darkness.

And then there was the screaming.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments, kudos, and encouragement!
> 
> Things to note:  
> Very, very brief mention of rape (of a non-Marvel character).

Part 2

The darkness felt like hands, strong as steel, pulling her deeper and deeper into his consciousness—or the lack thereof. She couldn’t tell if the screaming was hers, or his, but it reverberated through her. There was no sense of self inside of him, no coherent thoughts, not even images. It was only overwhelming emotion. And the cold. It bit into her skin, as if she had been tossed out into the arctic with nothing but a sweater, burrowing deeper into her body and settling in her bones.

Her mind reared back from his, trying to put some distance between them, but his hold on her was absolute. His terror and pain became hers, washing over her in waves; she could taste the iron tang of blood on her tongue, and the fear that made her want to scream. It crept over her until she couldn’t feel her own body any more, couldn’t hear the pounding of her own heart, or feel the rise and fall of her lungs.

_Please. Please don’t. Please, I—_

All of a sudden the darkness was gone, torn away from her mind. Reality came rushing in; bringing back the sensations of her body that had been cut off. Bright light made her blink, and her arms flailed as she was unceremoniously wrenched up and backwards by a thick arm wrapped around her torso.

“Darcy! Darcy!”

Tony Stark was in her face, his hands on her cheeks, and his eyes darting worriedly between hers. His panic shot straight through her and Darcy wrenched herself away with a cry, shoving at his chest and pushing herself back against the person who held her.

Her heart pounded erratically, and her chest heaved as if she’d just run a marathon. Stark stepped back, hands up in a peaceful gesture, but his eyes were narrowed on her. Darcy’s gaze darted around, taking in her surroundings as her memory finally jogged and supplied her with the information she needed.

The Winter Soldier. His room. She was in his room because she’d touched him and…

Her eyes shot to his crumpled form. He lay on the floor, curled up in the foetal position, his eyes screwed up shut and his arms wrapped tightly around his chest. The sight of him, combined with the overwhelming rush of both of their emotions, turned out to be the straw that broke her back. Without warning, Darcy became a sobbing mess. Her knees gave out and it was only the arm around her waist that kept her from face planting straight into the linoleum floor. Great, heaving sounds ripped out of her as she was slowly lowered to the ground. She crouched on all fours, shaking and trying not to vomit.

“Darcy, what the hell happened?” Stark asked, crouching down in front of her. He, thankfully, did not touch her again.

The arm around her waist slipped away, to be replaced by a hand on her back. The touch was too close to the bare skin of her arm and she flinched away from it violently.

“Don’t touch me!” she gasped, skittering away on hands and knees. Through her tears she could see the face of a very confused and concerned Captain America, but she couldn’t summon the words to reassure anyone. She felt…She couldn’t even put it into words. It was if every positive thought or emotion had been scooped out of her, leaving behind only the terror and the memory of pain so great she had no name for it. Unconsciously, she mirrored the Soldier’s pose, wrapping her arms around her chest as if they were the only things that could hold her bits and pieces together.

“Miss Lewis? What happened here?” Steve demanded, his tone commanding.

“I…I…” Her teeth chattered, both in fright and in memory of the cold. _The cold_. It was to be feared at all costs. It seeped into her body, through skin and muscle, right into her bones so that she’d never feel warm ever again.

Suddenly, her stomach rebelled and she lurched forward, catching herself on her hands as her body tried to eject food that wasn’t there. She hadn’t had much of a dinner to begin with, and what she had consumed had been hours before. There was nothing in her gut to throw up except stomach acid. Still, her muscles clenched and shook, forcing bile up her throat and out her mouth, leaving behind a foul burn. When it was done, she was a complete and utter mess. Her eyes streamed with tears, her nose ran and her hair clung to her sweaty face and neck, streaked with her own fluids.

She sat back shakily. Stark was exactly where she’d left him, but Steve had moved to crouch next to his friend, his hands hovering over him anxiously but not quite touching.

He turned to her. “What happened?” he demanded, his voice abruptly hard.

Darcy couldn’t say anything. The words simply wouldn’t come. She shook her head and looked away. She couldn’t tell him how she’d felt the madness within his friend, felt it cling to her mind until she couldn’t tell the difference between him and her. It would mean explaining what she’d done, and what she was. God, she really hadn’t thought this through.

“JARVIS?” Stark spoke without looking away from her. Darcy cringed into herself, knowing what was about to happen. “Want to fill us in?”

“Sir, I must apologise. I bear partial responsibility for this unfortunate outcome. I allowed Miss Lewis entrance to Sergeant Barnes’ room on the assurance that she only sought to help him which, I believe, she was attempting to do.”

Both men looked at her. Stark’s eyebrows went up, while Steve simply stared angrily.

“Shortly after touching Sergeant Barnes, Miss Lewis began displaying signs of discomfort. However, it was not until her respiration and heart rate began to increase drastically that I sought to intervene. When I could not engage her attention vocally, I alerted you and the Captain to the situation, sir.”

“And just how were you going to help him?” Stark asked her. “I know you’re clever, but last time I checked you weren’t a doctor.”

Darcy looked away from the intensity of his gaze, shaking her head. She’d already said the words once in that room, she couldn’t make herself do it again. JARVIS knew, there was no way that he didn’t. Nothing in the Tower was private from him.

Suddenly, Steve stood up and crossed the room. He reached down and yanked her up by the arms, his hands closing tightly around her bare upper arms.

“What did you do to him?” he bellowed, shaking her a little. “Tell me, now!”

In all the pictures and movie reels about Captain America, none of them had ever caught him in a fit of rage. He held her off the floor, his face flushed with his anger, and his eyes colder than ice. She was so distraught, her mind disorganized, that she had absolutely no defence against the skin contact. Thoughts, emotions, and images that weren’t her own rushed through her mind.

She saw an image of Tony Stark in his workshop, covered in grease and sitting on the floor with pieces of a machine spread around him.

_“She’s Foster’s assistant. Builds all her toys. Why?”_

_“She was there when we brought Bucky in. I didn’t recognise her.”_

_“Yeah, they’re a new addition. You were off playing Good Cop in D.C when they moved in.”_

It disappeared quickly, replaced by her sitting the lab, hunched over a StarkPad with a half eaten Pop Tart in one hand. She could feel the curiosity that accompanied the memory: he’d wanted to stop to speak to her, but he hadn’t had the time then.

Darcy kicked out at him, trying to wrench herself away from his grip. His thoughts and feelings were overpowering her, swirling around her in fragments, over riding her own mind.

“Let go!” she screamed. “ _Please!”_

“ _Tell me!”_ he screamed back.

“You’re hurting me!” Darcy sobbed.

And he was, though he had no idea. Her head throbbed and ached, feeling as if it might explode at any moment. She felt her feet touch the ground again, but he didn’t release her arms. She stared at him dazedly, fixing on the hard line of his mouth. His voice screamed at her, demanding answers, but his lips had stopped moving. She couldn’t hear anything from the room anymore, just his voice and the frantic beating of her heart. Heat suffused her body, starting in her chest and rushing outwards over her limbs as if she’d been dipped in hot water. The world seemed to tilt abruptly before Steve’s face suddenly looked like it was at the other end of the room, his arms and torso weirdly distorted. A high pitched ringing sound began, like the hum of a tuning fork when struck, but Darcy welcomed it as it drowned out the sound of the screaming.

Her body swayed to the side, and then everything went black.

 **-** **✮** **-**

 

The steady _beep, beep, beep_ is what woke her initially, but it was the throbbing in her head that kept her from slipping back into sleep. Slowly, she peeled her eyes open and blinked confusedly at her surroundings. Lavender walls, calming scenic paintings, and the gentle glow of early dawn greeted her. It took her a few moments to make the connection to her memories of the Tower’s hospital floor, but when she did everything else clicked. She sucked in a shaky breath as her brain powered up and memory rushed in.

“You’re awake.”

Darcy turned her head to the right to see Jane sitting in a chair next to the bed, yellow legal notepad in her lap and a pen in her hand. Her hair was an absolute mess, tied back sloppily and looking tangled, her eyes red rimmed and bloodshot, but it was the hard set to her mouth that made Darcy’s stomach plummet.

“Jane, I—”

Jane stood stiffly and turned for the door without a word. The heart monitor started beeping faster as Darcy watched her leave but she didn’t have long to panic. She had barely hauled herself into a sitting position before the door was opening again. Darcy watched, her dread mounting as Steve, Clint, Tony Stark, Agent Romanov, Jane, and Sam all filed into her room, making it feel incredibly small. She was briefly glad that both Thor and Banner were away; Thor in Asgard and Banner helping out with the outbreak of Ebola in Africa since the serum that made him into the Hulk also made him immune to human diseases.

She watched nervously as they all found a bit of wall to prop themselves against, arrayed around her like a council about to pass judgement. The heart monitor went crazy.

“So we had a meeting while you were out,” Stark said abruptly, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down his nose at her. “Apparently you deserve a chance to explain yourself.” He made a face that clearly displayed his opinion on this. “I was over ruled.”

Darcy looked at each of them and found most of them impassive and carefully blank, their eyes assessing her and every hitch of her breath. Only Jane and Stark showed any emotion.

“Well?” Stark snapped his fingers at her. “Let’s get to it.”

“Tony,” Steve warned, glancing at the other man before back at Darcy.

“I…” Darcy felt as if her tongue was about to choke her and the heart monitor was going positively mental. She ripped it off of her finger. Perhaps if they didn’t know exactly how fast her heart was racing maybe it would lessen her humiliation and her fear. “I’m…a mutant,” she whispered.

It was the first time she’d said those words out loud in front of so many people. Her heart was beating so fast it felt like it was tripping over itself in her chest. Stark snorted derisively and it made her flinch.

“Tell us something we _don’t_ know,” he said waspishly. “Like what you were doing to Barnes.”

His gaze was hard and unforgiving, with none of that camaraderie she’d briefly experienced before; it hurt more than Darcy thought possible. When had she begun to seek this man’s approval, or any of them for that matter? She hadn’t realised she was so attached that their rebuff would sting so much.

“I was trying to help him,” Darcy said, slightly defensive. Her eyes swept around the room to the others. “I’m a touch telepath.”

“What makes you think you could help him?” Romanov asked, her voice calm and mild.

Darcy hadn’t interacted with the Widow very much, the other woman wasn’t nearly as chatty as her partner, but she had always been polite and kind, if a little distant. Darcy glanced at her, a little unnerved by the intensity of those blue eyes.

“I’ve done it before,” she told them, licking her dry lips. “Once. A girl at college. She was…She’d been raped.” Darcy shrugged. “I helped her sleep.”

“How do you do that, exactly?” Steve asked. He, too, watched her with an unnerving intensity and she felt a little shiver of fear, remembering the strength of his hands, and of his anger. Unconsciously, she wrapped her arms around herself again.

“When I touch someone, their mind opens to me,” she said softly, looking down at the blanket that covered her legs. “I can hear their thoughts, feel their emotions, and see their memories. I experience everything that they’re thinking and feeling. If I concentrate on it, I can influence those thoughts and feelings.” She didn’t dare look at any of them now and her fingers began plucking at the blanket. “It’s easier when the person is sleeping, like Carolina. When she began to dream about that night, I’d push her mind in another direction, to something happier, so she’d sleep through the night.”

“That was your aim with Bucky?”

Darcy nodded, still looking at her lap. “Stark had said that he hadn’t talked to anyone. When I came up here, he was sitting in the corner, rocking back and forth. I thought that if…if I could get inside his head, I could help him.”

“And what happened when you…got inside his head?”

There was something in Steve’s tone that made her look up, a tinge of emotion that she couldn’t identify. His face was no longer quite so blank as before, his expression not as hard. He was leaning forward and his eyes practically burned as her watched her.

“He…I don’t really know how to explain it,” she confessed. “It was like he grabbed at me and held on. I had no control, it was overwhelming.” She paused and shrugged again. “I’ve never had that happen before.”

“Did you…see anything?”

She shook her head. “There were no thoughts in his mind. Just emotion and the darkness.”

“Darkness?” Steve echoed.

Darcy nodded. “Darkness. Terror. Cold.”

Steve’s face paled and one hand reached up to rub at his mouth. He turned away from her, walking to the other side of the room where a window let in the gradually rising sunlight.

“So you tried to get into the Winter Soldier’s head and it backfired,” Stark said. “My question is what have you been doing to the rest of us?”

Darcy’s head snapped up, shocked at the accusation, and she stammered, “I haven’t—I’ve _never_ —”

“You expect me to trust you? You just admitted that you have the ability to control a person’s mind. How are we to know that you haven’t been getting in and fucking around?” He viciously jabbed at the side of his head, his expression murderous. “How do we know you’re not some kind of Hydra spy?”

Someone snorted, loudly, and everyone turned to look at Clint standing beside the Widow with his arms crossed loosely over his chest. He arched an eyebrow at Stark.

“Really? A spy? You must think we’ve gone soft,” he remarked mildly. “Mutant she may be, but spy? I’ll eat every last one of my arrows.”

Beside him, Romanov tilted her head to the side, her eyes still boring holes into Darcy. “I was raised and trained by the Red Room. She’s no operative of theirs.”

“Hydra isn’t the only one out to get us,” Stark reminded them. “She could be one of Magneto’s merry band of psychopaths or any other number of groups!”

“I’ve asked you before, and I’ll ask you again, how many times can you recall Darcy willingly touching you? Or anyone else?” Clint looked around at the others. “’Cause every time I’ve gone to touch her, she’s either pulled away from me or visibly hesitated.”

Steve turned around to look at her. “I’ve touched you. You shook my hand the other day.”

Darcy nodded. “I try to block it out. Sometimes things slip through, mostly emotions.” She gestured with one hand toward Steve. “I could feel your anxiety, your grief.”

He didn’t seem to know what to say to that, but his face didn’t go hard again, which made her feel slightly better. He nodded once and opened his mouth to say something else but before he could, Jane cut him off.

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me?” she demanded suddenly, tears in her eyes. “After everything we’ve gone through? Why didn’t you trust me?”

Darcy had to look away, a painful lump in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I don’t want your apologies! I want a goddamn answer!”

Jane rarely swore, rarely yelled, and never at Darcy. Before she could stop it, tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “I couldn’t risk it, Jane. I just…I couldn’t.”

She was met with a thick, painful silence. When Darcy looked up at Jane the diminutive woman was livid and _hurt_. “You couldn’t risk it? You couldn’t—”

“Stop,” the Widow interrupted Jane, her tone that of an uninterested observer. “Your emotions are compromising your logic.”

Jane turned her fury on the Russian woman. “Stay out of this!” she yelled. “This is none of your business.”

“It _is_ my business. It’s all of ours,” Romanov replied calmly. “And you are being irrational. You have no idea what it’s like to be different, Foster.”

Jane was so outraged that she lost the ability to speak for a moment. Her hand went to her chest, pressing against the old button up that she wore. “I— _I don’t know_ —How dare—”

Romanov raised a hand forestalling an explosion. “You’re a woman in a male dominated field and you’re making the kind of breakthroughs that people only thought were possible in fiction novels. I can imagine the kind of sexism and condescension you’ve experienced from your peers, but you have no idea what it is like to be inherently _feared_ for what you are, for what you have no control over.”

The Widow’s expression, tone, and body language all remained calm. She could have been describing Jane’s outfit for all the emotion she expressed. Beside her, Clint pressed his lips into a hard line, his eyes focused on the wall behind Darcy’s bed.

Everyone else went silent and still, all of them perfectly aware of what it was that Romanov referred to, even Sam, who was new to the group. Jane knew just as well as the others that Natasha Romanov had been manipulated and brainwashed by Hydra, by the Red Room, but her anger chased away whatever sympathy she might have had for the other woman.

“You’re not a mutant, you—”

“I was made into what I am now, something which I had no control over. She had no control over her birth, or her genetics,” the Widow said sharply, gesturing with one hand to Darcy. “There are those who would kill her simply for existing.” She shot Tony a glare. “Why do you think Magneto and his merry band of psychopaths exist? Because mutants are the new blacks, the new Jews, the new gays. I don’t blame her for keeping her secrets, though she was sloppy with it,” she glanced at Darcy, arching one perfect red eyebrow, before turning her glare back on Jane. “The instinct to protect oneself from harm, to _survive_ at all costs, is the strongest that there is. You will never understand what it’s like to be a mutant, but you should attempt to.”

Jane fell silent, pressing a shaking hand to her mouth and turning her back to all of them. Darcy felt a simultaneous rush of gratitude towards Natasha, and fear that Jane would never forgive her.

The silence was broken by the sudden and unexpected appearance of a doctor. He walked into the room and stopped abruptly at the sight of them all, chart in his hands.

“Excuse me, I did not mean to interrupt. I can come back later,” he said, already turning back for the door.

“There is no need, Doctor,” Steve said. “What happened to her?”

The doctor looked to Darcy, silently asking for permission. She shrugged miserably, not really caring if they were all present to hear her diagnosis or not. They already knew the worst about her.

“You had a grand mal seizure, though the cause is unknown,” the doctor said, coming to stand next to her bedside. “Do you have a history of seizures? Or any in the family.”

Darcy shook her head. “No. I’ve never had a seizure before.”

“You may have had one and not known it. They can be very mild. Do you ever have moments where you’ve lost a chunk of memory? Where you’ve arrived somewhere and you have no idea how you’ve gotten there?”

Again, Darcy shook her head and he marked something down on the chart in his hands. He asked her a few more questions before he put the chart down on her legs and pulled out a small flashlight, shining it in her eyes. The others were silent, watching the procedure without comment, and for a little while she forgot that they were there. The doctor put her through her paces, making her lift her arms and press against his, testing her resistance and her balance. He pulled a little pack of cards out of his pocket and asked her to identify what she saw, or solve the simple math equations on them. When he was done, he scribbled some more on the chart.

“I wish I could tell you why you had a seizure, but other than slightly elevated brain activity your tests are all normal. Random seizures are not terribly uncommon, and there’s a good chance that it will never happen again, but I want you to be cautious, okay? Monitor your health closely, and if you feel off at all, even if you can’t explain it, I want you to come back immediately.”

Darcy nodded. “Can I go home now?”

He smiled down at her kindly and Darcy almost burst into tears at the sight of it. It felt like the first kind gesture she’d seen in ages, though she knew that wasn’t really true. The doctor seemed oblivious as Darcy wrestled her emotions under control.

“I’m going to write you a script for a mild painkiller. Take it for the headache I’m sure you have, but if it doesn’t go away after two days, I want you to come back.” He pulled out a pad from his pocket, writing quickly. “Also, just as a general tip to everyone in the room,” he ripped the paper off and handed it to her before looking up at the superheroes arrayed around him, his tone changing slightly. “You never hold down a person having a seizure. She has intramuscular bruising on her arms because of whoever was grabbing her. Don’t ever do it again,” he said with finality.

Looking back at Darcy, he gave her another courteous smile. “I’ll have your discharge papers drawn up.”

As soon as the doctor left, Stark turned to her. “You’ve never had a seizure before?” he asked sceptically.

Darcy looked up at him, a sharp spike of anger flared through her. “Why would I lie about that?”

If he heard the emotion in her voice, he didn’t seem to care. “So why’d you have one now? Awfully convenient.”

Darcy threw back the covers and slid out of the bed, going for the drawers where she suspected—vola!—her clothes would be. She snatched them up and held them to her chest against the hospital gown, thanking god that whoever had put her in it had seen fit to give her two. At least she wasn’t flashing the Avengers her bare ass as well as her tattered dignity.

“I’ll have my stuff out of the Tower within the hour,” she said tightly, staring Tony Stark down.

“No,” Jane spoke up immediately. “No. You’re not going anywhere. Why would you leave?”

Darcy tilted her chin up and swallowed down the sharp lump in her throat. She refused to cry in front of them anymore, to show any more weakness. “I know when I’m not wanted.”

“No one ever said that, Darcy,” Clint spoke up.

“I may have,” Stark interjected. “At some point.”

“Shut the fuck up, Stark,” Jane snapped. “You’re not her boss, I am. You can kick her out of her apartment, but you can’t fire her.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Technically, I could kick you both out, you and your lab. I could take away your funding. You prepared for that, Foster?”

“It’s my fault.”

Steve’s voice broke through the tension, cutting off Jane before she could speak, though judging by the way her tiny body seemed to inflate, she was ready to start screaming at Stark.

“What’s your fault?” The Widow asked.

Steve looked over at Darcy, but it wasn’t her face he was focused on, it was her arm. She looked down at herself, at where the hospital gown didn’t quite cover the livid bruise on her white skin. It was the kind of bruise that gave rise to the phrase ‘beaten black and blue’.

“Her seizure,” he said, almost to himself, his eyes glued on the mark. “It was me. I grabbed her.”

“You didn’t know—”

Steve shook his head sharply. “No. I hurt her…before the seizure. She told me to let her go, that I was hurting her, but I didn’t listen.” His hand went up and over his face again as he slumped back against the windowsill. “I was so angry, I hurt her,” he whispered.

“Okay, I hate to be the dick right now,” Stark said, drawing everyone’s attention back to him, “but how does grabbing her arms cause a seizure?”

Everyone’s gaze shifted to her, as if they were all puppets being controlled by the same master. Everyone, that is, but Steve. His head was hanging down, his hand still over his face.

“Why are you looking at me?” Darcy snapped. “Do I look like a doctor?”

“Well, you don’t like a mutant, or a closet engineer, but apparently you’re both of those,” Stark pointed out.

Darcy glared at him before dropping her clothes on to the bed. She was tired of feeling vulnerable around them. She grabbed her jeans and started slipping them on under her gown.

“I don’t really know. All I know is that I couldn’t block him out when he touched me,” she said, forcing first one leg and then another into the denim. “After your soldier friend, I just couldn’t hold up my walls, and you wouldn’t let go and your emotions were just…I don’t know. Everything went weird, and then it went black. Your guess is as good as mine.”

“It was my fault,” Steve repeated.

No one said a word in response; they wouldn’t even look at him. It probably was his fault, Darcy thought to herself, but instead of feeling angry about it, she just desperately wanted to get the hell out of Dodge.

Thankfully, whoever had dressed her had seen fit to actually tie the stays on the two gowns, so she could pull her arms in and dress under it. Grabbing her bra, she turned her back to them as she awkwardly got into it. No one offered to leave and give her some damn privacy. Assholes, she thought bitterly.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone what you are?”

The voice was new, and it belonged to Sam. She had almost forgotten that he was even in the room since he’d been completely silent since they all entered it. He’d simply found a corner to lean into and stayed there, listening to everything.

Darcy looked over to find him watching her calmly, and though part of her knew it was illogical for this to be her last straw, her temper snapped and she lashed out at him.

“Why? _Why_? Were you not listening to a word she said?” Darcy demanded, gesturing angrily at Romanov. “Do you know what they _do_ to people like me? I’ll tell you! We fucking disappear, never to be seen or heard of again, because we’re in some laboratory basement being picked apart by scientists.” She was shouting at him, but she no longer gave a fuck.

“I understand that,” Sam said calmly. “But why hide it from the Avengers? You know what we do. We’re openly affiliated with the X-Men. Why would you think we’d hurt you? Or even judge you?”

Angrily, Darcy ripped off her gown combo, not caring if everyone got a flash of her bra at that point. She grabbed her t-shirt and tugged it over her head.

“I’ve told exactly three people in my life what I am,” she told Sam, holding up three fingers just in case he missed the point. “My mother, my childhood best friend, and the girl I helped in college. My mother taught me to never show people what I am, because she knew that they’d either want to hurt me, or use me—or both. And she was right. You know what that friend of mine did? He told me that my secret was safe with him, that it was _so cool_ , and then he went and told _everyone_.” The lump was back and she swallowed hard against it. “All of the kids at school, their parents, the teachers, _everyone_. It became a goddamn witch-hunt. My mother and I had to run in the middle of the night, had to leave all of our stuff, everything, because they were going to _kill me_.”

Sam opened up his mouth to speak and Darcy held up her hand to stall whatever it was that he wanted to say. “When I met Jane, I had no reason to tell her. Why did she need to know? I was safer, and so was she, if she didn’t know. But then Thor came, and with Thor came S.H.E.I.L.D, and then _you lot_ , and there was no way I could tell you because if any of _your_ enemies ever found out I’d be entirely and royally _fucked_!”

“We’d protect you—”

“Protect me?” she echoed, her voice slightly hysterical. “Sam, up until recently, no one knew that S.H.E.I.L.D was actually Hydra. Could you imagine what would have happened to me if S.H.E.I.L.D had been aware of what I am? ‘Cause I sure as hell can imagine it, it’s all I’ve been imagining since you,” she shot a look at Steve, “decided to toss a couple of Hellicarriers into a building.”

“Look at what they did to his friend, Sergeant Barnes” she continued. “Look what they did to a man who was born _normal_. They physically and chemically altered that man’s mind and body to suit their needs. What do you think they’d do to me?”

“They would rip you apart,” the Widow said softly, “and remake you in their image, or kill you while trying.”

Darcy nodded, even as a spike of fear shot through her. She knew the reality that awaited her if people like Hydra ever found out about her. She knew the reality that was Logan Howlett’s past. Mutants were always a prize to people like Hydra, but a mutant with her abilities? She would be a gold mine to them.

“I’m not like you guys,” she said. “I’m not strong, or skilled. I’m not a soldier and I’m sure as hell nothing ‘super’. _I can’t defend myself_.” Darcy looked at Jane, who was watching her with wide eyes, her face pale and distraught. “Secrecy is my only defence.”

No one seemed inclined to say anything to that, not even Tony, so Darcy bent down and grabbed her Chucks from under the bed. She sat down in the chair that Jane had occupied in order to lace them up. No one moved or spoke until she was done.

“So what now?” Barton asked, looking at Stark.

“I know I have no right to ask this,” Steve said, ignoring his comrade’s question. “But I’d like you to try again.” Everyone turned to look at him. “With Bucky,” he clarified.

Out of all the things she’d expected him to say _that_ was never on the list. Darcy stared at him in shock, and she wasn’t the only one.

“Seriously?” Tony looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.

Steve ignored them all, his eyes desperately holding on to Darcy’s. “Please.”

“I…I don’t think I can,” she told him, tugging at the hem of her t-shirt. “You’d be better off getting someone else like Professor Xavier.”

“Tried that already,” Clint said. “First person we called while you were out like a light. He’s unavailable for an indefinite amount of time.”

“Miss Lewis, I _know_ that I have no right to ask you of anything,” Steve said, his gaze slipping to her arms once again, “but I’m not asking for me. I’m asking for Bucky. Please—”

“You don’t understand,” she interrupted. “He pulled me in, held on to me. I couldn’t get out of his mind, I couldn’t pull back. If you and Stark hadn’t come in, I don’t know that I would have ever gotten out. I…I felt his madness seep into me. I was just as terrified as he was, just as lost and confused. I…I can’t do that again.”

Steve seemed to deflate, falling back against the wall once more. “I understand,” he said after a long moment.

Despite the way he’d treated her, Darcy felt guilty for denying him. Yes, he had hurt her, he’d ignored her pleas to stop, but she couldn’t totally blame him. She’d been privy to his thoughts and feelings at that moment, and she knew that his extreme anger at her had been rooted in fear for his best friend. She could understand how he’d lost sight of his reason in that moment. The best friend he’d thought was dead, the man he’d learned had spent the last seventy years being tortured and brain washed and used as a lethal killing machine, the friend he’d only just found…Yes, she could understand how all that emotion, all that fear might override his good sense, but just because she understood didn’t mean she would never be able to forget it. She wasn’t sure she’d ever fully trust him again.

“Sir?”

The cool sound of JARVIS’ voice made her jump, as it did Jane.

“Yes, JARVIS?” Stark said.

“Dr. Madison has been waiting some time for an indication that he may commence with Miss Lewis’ discharge. Shall I inform that he should wait?”

“No, that’s not necessary. He can come in. I think we’re done here anyway.” He looked Darcy up and down. “You don’t have to leave, but this? This shit isn’t done yet.”

Those words felt ominous to Darcy and for a second she wondered if Stark somehow knew _everything_ , but that was impossible. The only person who knew that much about her was her mama, and Clara Lewis was long dead, taking her daughter’s secrets with her to the grave. Besides, Stark had a big fucking mouth; he wouldn’t be able to keep his trap shut if he knew all that she could do.

The door opened, revealing the doctor once more. In his hand he had several papers, which he held up. “Miss Lewis, if you’re ready.”

Grabbing her bag, which had been hanging off of the side of Jane’s chair, Darcy followed him out of the room and towards the nurse’s station. He went over the paperwork with her, showing her where to sign, and left her with a list of signs and symptoms of the different types of seizures and how to deal with them should she have another. When she was done, he gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder and a wish for her good health.

Darcy carefully folded her copy of the paperwork and tucked it into her bag before turning for the exit. Waiting for her at the end of the hall was none other than Steve Rogers.

“What can I do for you, Captain?” she asked warily as she approached.

“I wanted to apologise for my actions,” he said solemnly. “I was completely out of line. I’ve never laid a hand on a woman before, and I never thought I would. I’m so sor—”

Darcy held up her hand to stem the flow. “I get it, I do.” He looked incredibly sceptical. “No, really, I do. You were emotional, and you weren’t thinking clearly.” She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling the pull of the bruises he’d put on her, and glared at him fiercely. “But you should know that I know how to make fucking bombs. You feel me?”

His eyes widened slightly and his eyebrows rose. “I…I feel you?”

She nodded sharply. Under different circumstances his confusion and the way he had unconsciously rolled back onto his heels would have entertained her. As it were, the throbbing in her head and arms kept her firmly rooted in reality. “Don’t ever touch me again and we’ll be fine.” She didn’t wait for a response, just turned on her heel and walked away from him with more kahunas than she actually felt she had. Still, she heard him softly murmur,

“Yes, ma’am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure you have a couple of questions about the characters and their responses in this chapter. Keep in mind that even though these people are (mostly) superheroes and many of them are trained to react logically under stress, this situation is a bit different for them. Cap is under a tremendous amount of stress and his emotional equilibrium is shot, Tony has massive trust issues and would (initially) take Darcy's secrecy as a betrayal, and Jane is just finding out that her only real friend has kept a massive secret from her for years. If you found that their reactions are out of character in this chapter, just give them a bit to find their footing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've been paying attention then you've noticed that this updates once a week. That's probably going to change as I'm going back to school in September (yay, second career?) and shit is going to get real. I will do my damnest to keep up the once a week schedule, and it will _never_ be abandoned, but I make no promises for the schedule.
> 
> As always, thanks for the comments, kudos, and support.

The first thing Darcy did was return to her apartment and head straight for the shower. She could smell vomit in her hair, and that dirty feeling that always accompanied a hospital visit clung to her skin. She turned on the water as hot as she could stand it and stripped naked, dropping her clothes on the bathroom tiles.

She stepped under the spray, turning her face up into it and welcoming the warmth and that little bit of a sting that came with good water pressure and an enormous heater. It washed away the sticky feeling of old tears on her cheeks, and her shoulders slowly started to relax as the room warmed up and the air grew heavy with moisture. Turning in place, she tipped her head back, soaking her hair.

“Jesus Christ,” she groaned, rubbing her hand over her face and down the back of her head. “I’m so fucking stupid.”

She had known the moment she stepped into that man’s room that it was a bad idea, and yet she’d gone and done it anyway. Her mama would have been _appalled_ by how reckless she’d been. She knew better, she really did.

_Her mother picked up the phone on the second ring, twirling the long cord around her finger as was her habit._

_“Hello?” she said pleasantly. “Oh, Vivian. Hello. What can—What do you mean, they know? Who knows what?”_

_Darcy glanced up from her book at the change in her mother’s tone in time to see her mother turn sharply towards her daughter, eyes concerned._

_“Vivian, you’ve got to be kidding me! He’s a little boy. Boys make up stories. There’s nothing wrong with Darcy.”_

_Darcy felt her stomach drop out of her, and then her mother’s gaze changed with whatever it was that Vivian Walters was saying. Darcy’s heart began to pound erratically as she recognised the look in her mother’s eyes: fear._

_“I see. Okay. Okay. Thank you for telling me. Goodbye.”_

_She hung up the phone, slamming it down into the receiver. “Go get your coat and your shoes on. I want you to go to your Uncle Peter’s and wait for me.”_

_“Mama—”_

_“Go, Darcy!” her mother shouted, a panicked look in her eye. “I’ll meet you there. Just go!”_

Darcy sighed and reached for the bottle of shampoo. Unlike with Jeremy, she’d only exposed herself in order to help. She really and truly had thought that she might be able to bring about a positive change for James Barnes, but now she wasn’t so sure. While it had been emotionally draining to be in Carolina’s mind, and Darcy herself had had nightmares for a while, that experience had been so much easier. Carolina had been traumatised, yes, but her mind was solid and stable whereas his was fractured and chaotic. Just the memory of being in his mind made her shiver.

She poured a generous dollop of shampoo into her hand and began working it through her long, thick hair. The scent surrounded her, comforting and familiar, which was exactly what she needed after the stress of her morning. Tipping her head back under the spray, she thought back to how the Avengers had reacted to her revelation and, all things considered, she had to acknowledge how much worse it could have gone. The thought of the Black Widow’s comments, though, brought warmth to Darcy’s chest that had nothing to do with her shower. A part of her, albeit a small part, was actually relieved to have it out in the open.

But then there was Jane.

Darcy could get over it if Stark never spoke a kind to word her ever again. It wouldn’t be great, but she could deal. She could even deal if all of the Avengers shunned her, though that didn’t look like it was about to happen, but if she lost Jane? That was a possibility she didn’t want to contemplate. Her eyes began to burn again and if tears leaked out of her eyes, at least there was no one there to notice. Darcy sniffed and grabbed her bar of soap, rubbing it absentmindedly on her skin.

She would find Jane after her shower. She would explain. She’d do her damnest to make Jane _see_. It hadn’t been a deliberate slight against the astrophysicist, and Darcy knew that if she were to fix things between them she would have to make Jane see that. Her powers were like Jane’s research in a way—something to be held close to the breast and kept hidden from everyone else lest it be taken away or, in Darcy’s case, used against someone.

A thought occurred to her as she washed and she paused in the act of her ablutions. Holding the bar of soap out in front of her on the flat of her palm, Darcy concentrated on it: focused on the shape of it, the slippery feel of its surface, the weight of it in her palm.

Slowly, it rose a few inches above her hand and hovered there as if awaiting instruction. It was such a small thing, that little bar of soap, and yet what she could do with it meant _so much_. Suddenly angry with herself, she whipped her hand away from the bar and it dropped, landing hard against the floor of the tub. She didn’t bother to retrieve it. Turning back to the water, she rinsed the soap off of her body and tried not to cry again.

By the time she left the shower, her body was flushed pink and her fingers were pruned like raisins. She stepped over her clothes, they could be dealt with later, and grabbed a towel to wrap around herself. Leaving wet footprints behind her, she padded to her bedroom and pulled out fresh clothes. She dressed more for comfort than for that unique ‘Darcy style’ that she usually aimed for, throwing on a pair of black yoga pants and an old long sleeved shirt that had been washed so many times it was stretched out weirdly and almost transparent in some spots.

Pulling a brush through her hair, she braided it and tied it off, not bothering to dry it. It would be a nightmare later, but she’d deal with that when the time came. Forcing her feet into a pair of socks and grabbing her shoes, she headed for the door, intent on finding Jane.

She was only a few steps away from it when a knock sounded on the other side. Darcy paused, her stomach jolting nervously.

“Doctor Foster is on the other side, Miss Lewis,” JARVIS said suddenly, startling her.

“Oh. Um. Okay.” Darcy crossed the distance and opened the door, shoes in one hand.

Jane looked up at her, expression absolutely miserable. Her nose and eyes were red, and it was clear that she had been crying for quite some time.

“I’m sorry!” she blurted. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—” She hiccupped. “—have yelled at you. I’m a b-bad friend.”

Darcy didn’t pause to think about it as she dropped her shoes and closed the gap between them, grabbing Jane around the waist and pulling her in for a hug. For once, Jane became the touchy-feely type and clung to Darcy, hands pulling at the back of her shirt, and before either of them could do a thing about it they were both crying and holding on to each other tightly. They stood like that, just holding on, and Darcy didn’t bother to count the seconds as they turned into minutes. The part of her that had been quietly panicking finally quieted as the feel of Jane’s thin arms squeezing her tight enough to be mildly uncomfortable.

Jane pulled back first, sniffing and giving her a watery smile. “Oh, I think I boogered on you,” she said, wiping at Darcy’s shoulder.

Darcy sniffed too, and laughed wetly. “Ew. Take it back. What’d I ever do to you?”

“It’s how I show my love.”

Instantly, the levity was gone and Darcy’s face crumpled. “I love you, too. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m so—”

“No,” Jane said, shaking her head. “That crazy Russian woman was right. I reacted emotionally. As soon as I stopped to think about it, I realised I was being incredibly dumb.” She sniffed again, fixing Darcy with a look. “Which you know I’m not usually.”

Darcy laughed again and buried her face in Jane’s shoulder, careful not to let the skin of her cheeks brush against Jane’s. Jane didn’t seem to care much as she pulled Darcy in closer, wrapping her arms around her back and resting her head against her friend’s wet hair.

“Can you forgive me?” she asked softly.

Darcy nodded adamantly against Jane’s shoulder, her words muddled, “Nothing to forgive.”

Jane pulled back again, just enough to free one of her arms, and hold up her hand as if expecting a high five. Darcy looked at it, and then back to Jane, confused.

“What are—” Jane wiggled her fingers and it clicked in Darcy’s mind. “Are…Are you sure?”

Jane nodded, a small smile on her face. “I trust you.”

Darcy nearly started crying again, but she managed to stop herself. Barely. Instead, she reached up and pressed her palm flat against Jane’s, opening her mind slightly to the other woman’s.

Warmth rushed through her, filling the corners of her mind and sweeping her along with it. Images of Darcy, of her with Jane, with Thor, with Erik, quickly followed. Overlaying it were snippets of her own voice making some pithy comment, or her boisterous laughter. Darcy could feel Jane’s concentration as she pulled up memory after memory of the two of them, everything from mopey drinking sessions to all night science benders to casual lunches where Jane made Darcy inhale her drink on a laugh.

At that, Darcy did start crying again. “I love you, too,” she said sniffling and smiling. She shifted her fingers, twining them between Jane’s and holding tight.

Concentrating, Darcy focused on the emotions Jane invoked within her and then pushed them at the invisible line that separated their two minds. She knew when Jane felt it, because the other woman gasped, and then began to laugh, tipping her head forward until their foreheads rested against each other, their eyes closed and their hands joined.

“That’s pretty amazing, Darce.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.”

“Can…Can I show you something else?” Darcy asked, tugging on Jane’s waist slightly. The smaller woman nodded and allowed herself to be pulled into the apartment proper. Darcy let go of her to close the door, ending the link between their minds.

“What is it?” Jane looked at her curiously, but to her credit she didn’t look concerned or wary.

Darcy sighed and snatched up her keys from where they sat in a bowl near the front door. Standing in front of Jane, she held the keys tightly in one hand, and hesitated. Part of her knew that Jane deserved to know everything, and that hiding anything else would certainly break not only Jane’s heart, but also the fragile ties she had to the Avengers. They would see her secrecy as a sign of duplicity, and that was the last thing she wanted.

Still, old habits died hard, and her heart pounded as she slowly opened her hand, letting her keys lie flat on her palm. It took her longer to do it, her concentration was a bit shoddy, but she forced herself to focus on the shape and feel of the keys, remembering the sharp scent of metal, and exerted her will on the item before her. Slowly, it began to hover above her palm.

“Holy shit, Darcy,” Jane breathed.

Darcy didn’t look at her, not because she didn’t want to see Jane’s reaction—she definitely did—but if she didn’t give this 110% of her attention, the keys would fall. Slowly, she dropped her hand away, letting them float gently in the air between the two women, casually defying the laws of gravity.

“Holy shit,” Jane repeated in the same awed tone. “Can you do that with anything?”

Darcy reached out and caught the keys just as she released her hold on them. “No, only small things. I’m not sure but…I think I’m limited to the things I can physically move. Like, I can’t shove a car out of the way or anything.” She grinned suddenly. “I totally tried once. Nadda.”

Jane laughed suddenly, the sound reverberating off the walls in the otherwise silent apartment. “Of _course_ you did.”

Darcy shrugged, smiling sheepishly. Her heart felt light, lighter than it had since her mama died back when she was a sophomore. She surged forward, grabbing Jane up in a hug again, squeezing her as tight as she could.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

She felt hands on her head, gently stroking her damp hair, and Darcy promised herself that she wouldn’t start crying _again_.

“Hey, Darce?”

“Mmm?”

“Can we do that again? The hand thing?”

Darcy pulled back and laughed. Reaching up, she and Jane entangled their fingers again and their minds blurred together. Darcy was careful not to go too far into Jane’s consciousness. She didn’t want to probe, even by accident. She’d always pictured her mental shields as a floor to ceiling concrete wall, stretching as long and far as the eye could see. It had a single door in it, and it was this door that she used to block the majority of people’s feelings and thoughts when she touched them. It wasn’t fail proof by any means, in fact, it only really worked when the people she touched were either calm or dead asleep. When they were experiencing heightened emotions it was pretty much game over, which was why Darcy avoided touch as much as possible. When she was forced to touch, she threw up her mental wall which allowed her to interact with people in a some-what normal way. But Darcy had never shared her mind with someone like this before, not even with her mama. It was both invigorating, and freeing, sharing herself like this.

They stayed like that for a while, both of them pushing thoughts and emotions at each other. When they finally pulled apart, their tears had dried on their cheeks and Darcy was glad she hadn’t bothered to put on any make-up after her shower.

“Okay, enough crying,” Jane said, wiping at her face. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry?”

“The Grille?” Darcy asked, thinking of their favourite breakfast spot. Cheap, greasy, and huge portions. It suited Jane’s inherent inability to feed herself a balanced meal and Darcy’s ingrained habits of eating on the cheap from her college days.

“God, yes,” Jane moaned as Darcy stepped back and snatched up her shoes. “Where were you going, anyway?”

“To find you.”

Jane smiled softly at her, and then reached out to steady her as she balanced on one foot to get her shoe on.

“Thanks,” Darcy said with a smile.

“Any time.”

 _ **-**_ _**✮**_ _**-**_

Darcy sighed comfortably as she and Jane entered the lab, their bellies full of good, old-fashioned diner food. It felt as if days had passed since she’d last been in there, though it had only been half a day. Her experience with Sergeant Barnes had only put her in the hospital for a few hours, which, all things considered, was a blessing.

Their routine was old and worn in, like a favourite pair of shoes, and they fell back into it as if nothing out of the ordinary had passed. Jane buried herself in calculations that would have to be programmed into the machinery that Darcy crawled around on the floor with, grunting and giving it a swift kick when something didn’t fit quite right—because contrary to what _some_ people say, sometimes kicking it really _does_ fix it.

DUM-E found her quickly. He rolled up to her, chirruping happily and offering her a selection of tools that she didn’t actually need but took anyway, just to make him happy. She’d half-expected to find that Stark had forbidden the robot from being around her, but either DUM-E didn’t give a single fuck for Stark’s rules—a distinct possibility considering that the robot had a legit personality—or Stark simply wasn’t that vindictive. She’s isn’t sure which one appealed to her most.

She and Jane had worked steadily for several hours, the sun dipping low in the sky outside their windows, when the semi-silence—infiltrated only by grunts and the occasional shouted inquiry—was broken by the sound of boots on linoleum. Darcy looked up as the Black Widow entered the lab, her eyes sweeping around the room and taking everything in as if she expected something to pop out at her.

Jane looked up at the same time that Darcy did, and she could see the scientist’s spine straightening at the sight of the agent, but the Widow only acknowledged her with a small nod of the head. Her eyes were focused on Darcy, which, naturally, made Darcy’s stomach feel like it was about to fall out of her butt.

“Lewis,” she said, approaching Darcy’s desk. She reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a pair of black gloves. “These are for you.”

She dropped them on the table and looked at Darcy expectantly. Only Darcy didn’t really know what to say. She stared at the gloves; they were made of some sort of synthetic material with dark grey stitching along the seams, but they may as well have been hot lava for all that Darcy wanted to touch them.

Clearly, the Widow didn’t trust her to keep her powers to herself. Darcy tried to shove away bubble of emotion welling up inside her gut. Really, she shouldn’t be surprised. The Black Widow was a famous spy and assassin. Why would she trust Darcy, whom she’d only met a few times, and who clearly had secrets of her own? Obviously—

“They’re for when we train,” she said, interrupting Darcy’s spiralling thoughts. Darcy’s eyes snapped up to her in confusion and watched as the Widow pulled out another pair, identical to the ones on the desk between them. “I have my own. They’re lightweight and flexible, and they won’t make your hands sweat. At least, not any more than normal.”

Darcy blinked at her stupidly. “I don’t understand...”

Romanov’s lips curled up ever so slightly in the corners.

“You. Me. Training,” she said slowly, pointing first to Darcy, then herself, and then holding up a fist. “You said that you can’t defend yourself,” she explained, dropping her hands to the table to lean on it. “I’m giving you the opportunity to change that.”

Darcy’s mouth dropped open in an expression that would have made her mother cringe had she been around to see it. “You…You…Me?”

The redhead nodded, looking ever more amused. “You and me. For now. Clint will teach you to shoot.”

“Shoot?” Darcy squeaked.

“Shoot.”

Darcy deliberately looked down at herself, and then back up at the other woman. “Are you sure about this? I’m not exactly…” Darcy searched around for the right word “…physical.”

The Widow crossed her arms over her chest and smirked. “I’m up for the challenge.” She stuffed the second pair of gloves back into her pocket and turned on her heel. “Wear similar clothing to what you have on now. Tomorrow. 16:00 hours. In the gym.”

Jane and Darcy watched her leave, both of them sporting similar looks of shock and confusion.

“Did that just happen?” Jane murmured aloud.

“Unless I’m having a stroke, I’m pretty sure it did,” Darcy said, picking up the gloves from the table before her.

Jane frowned at her. Darcy didn’t need to be looking at the other woman to know; she could feel Jane’s frown vibes from clear across the lab. “Are hallucinations symptoms of a stroke?”

Darcy shrugged. “Heat stroke, maybe?”

She heard Jane sigh, but Darcy ignored it. Slipping one glove on her hand, her eyes widened in surprise at how _nice_ it felt. The material was slightly cool, soft, and very flexible. She couldn’t feel the seams against her skin, just the slight stretch and pull of the fabric as she clenched her fist repeatedly. She slipped the other one on and stared at her hands.

“You have to tell her about the rest,” Jane said suddenly, making Darcy look over at her.

Darcy nodded. “You think I should go find her?”

“Nah. Just tell her tomorrow. Before you start training,” she added. “She doesn’t exactly socialise and play nice with just anyone, so I think her offer to teach you how to protect yourself is pretty important to her.” Jane’s focus was momentarily diverted to the doorway that the Widow had come through, her expression thoughtful before she turned to look at Darcy. “You should definitely tell her before you start anything.”

Darcy nodded again, seeing the wisdom and truth in Jane’s words. The Widow _didn’t_ play nice with just anyone, even with the Avengers team she still held herself apart, really only _close_ with Clint. Perhaps that’s why she’d chosen the archer to teach Darcy to shoot. Her stomach swooped at the thought. Shoot a gun? Her?

She groaned and dropped her head onto the table, her cheek smooshed up against the paperwork she was supposed to be filling out.

“What now?” Jane asked.

“They’re gonna make me shoot a gun. _Me_ , Jane.”

“I’m sure they’ll _teach_ you how to first, Darce. They’re not just going to give you a gun and say ‘Have at it, kiddo’.”

Her words didn’t reassure Darcy in the slightest. “Jane, I could accidentally shoot you while aiming the gun at my own head, okay? This is going to be a disaster.”

“I’m sure you’re not _that_ bad. Have you ever shot a gun before?”

“No!” Darcy said vehemently. “And there’s a damn good reason for that! You never saw me in gym class, Jane. I was a _menace_. No hand-eye co-ordination. At all.” Darcy rolled her face along the papers, making them stick to her skin as she moaned some more. “In fact, all of this is going to be a disaster. I’m going to walk into that gym and brain myself on something before she can even get a word in.”

Jane suddenly started to laugh, a deep, throaty sound for someone so little. It filled the room and Darcy looked up to glare at her friend from across the lab.

“I think I’ll come watch then,” Jane said, between giggles.

Darcy dropped her head to the table once more with an audible _thunk_.

“You’re a terrible friend.”

 

 _ **-**_ _**✮**_ _**-**_

Darcy rolled over and stared at the green glow of her clock for the umpteenth time that night. It was 4am, otherwise known as the ass crack of dawn, and she hadn’t slept a wink.

Her mind was full of _him_.

Was he all right, after she’d touched him? She hadn’t thought to ask at the time. In fact, it wasn’t until everything had slowed down, and she’d finally convinced Jane that sleep is necessary, that she let herself even consider him again.

His mind had been so chaotic, for all the fact that it was virtually blank. Darcy was used to minds that explode with colour and sensation, memories overlapping each other with thoughts and fantasies and half-remembered dreams. His mind had been a fortress of darkness and raw, painful emotions, his only memories being that of the inexplicable cold.

She rolled over again, punching her pillow and flopping onto it angrily. What did a woman have to do for a little _sleep_? She nagged at Jane—and maybe blackmailed her a little by saying she’d tattle to Thor the moment he came back—about how important a good night’s sleep was and yet there she was, counting the bumps and crevasses of her ceiling. If she were on better terms with Stark, she’d tease him about how his Tower wasn’t _perfect_.

But she’s not on good terms with Stark, because she had to go and grow a goddamn hero complex and touch Sergeant Barnes. The Winter Soldier.

It suddenly occurred to her to wonder if the _winter_ part of his code name had anything to do with his fear of the cold, and then her imagination ran wild creating scenarios that made her feel sick to her stomach. She sat up, throwing the covers off of her legs, and padded into the bathroom for a glass of water. She flicked on the light and turned the knob of the tap, sticking her finger under the flow to wait for it to get nice and cold. It was a habitual routine for her, one that came from growing up in apartment complexes where your water didn’t always run cold, or clean, immediately, but as the water turned icy over her finger she was suddenly taken over by an irrational dislike and she yanked her hand out of the water.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered to herself, rubbing a hand over her face.

She couldn’t even begin to imagine living such a bleak existence. Sure, her life had never been roses and fairy tales, but she got to grow up with a good woman for a mother and if she lost her early, at least it wasn’t before Darcy was old enough to understand just how much Clara Lewis had sacrificed for her daughter. She couldn’t imagine a life where her memory didn’t burst with the happy images and thoughts of her childhood, a life where all of that had been taken away from her.

Without testing the water, Darcy turned both knobs and filled up her glass, choking down lukewarm water. As she did, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, her eyes wide and her skin paler than usual.

Part of her wanted to blame him; for being in the Tower, for being so helpless and vulnerable—if it weren’t for his presence, she would never have exposed herself—but she knew that that was the small, petty part of her that she didn’t like very much and so she pushed it away.

She turned from the bathroom and headed to the front door, stuffing her feet into a pair of black flats on the way. It wasn’t exactly stylish, they didn’t go with her smiley face pants or her oversized t-shirt, but she wasn’t particularly concerned with whether or not JARVIS would judge her and he was likely the only one who would see her.

The elevator opened for her as soon as she reached it, and the AI’s smooth voice asked, “Where would you like to go, Miss Lewis?”

“Can you take me to medical?” she asked.

“Of course.”

JARVIS didn’t ask her any other questions, and he didn’t hesitate either, which led her to believe that Stark hadn’t restricted her access to anywhere, at least not to anywhere that she was allowed to go before. The doors opened to the medical floor and she was met with the now somewhat familiar sight of the receptionist’s area. Darcy pressed the button on the desk and let herself in.

His room was pretty much the same as it had been before. Someone had cleaned up her vomit, and hopefully aired it out, but other than that it looked identical to the previous night. The only difference was the man inside.

He still sat in the corner under the window, making her press the side of her face against the glass in order to see him, but instead of the steady rocking motion she had encountered before there was only stillness and silence. He didn’t move, not even to blink.

“He’s been like that ever since you touched him.”

Darcy spun around, a gasp caught in her throat, to find Steve Rogers walking up to her, a paper cup in his hand.

“I…I didn’t…”

Steve held up one hand. “That wasn’t an accusation,” he told her. “Just an observation.”

He came to stand next to her and the scent of coffee wafted over from his cup. She was silent for a moment, hesitating to voice her opinion.

“You should call Professor Xavier again,” she said, focusing her attention on the man in the room. All she could see of him, without pressing her face to the window, was the top of his unkempt head. “Even if it’s not for a while, he should still come.”

“He’s out of contact right now,” Steve said quietly. Darcy looked up at him questioningly and Steve shrugged. “All I know is that it’s personal.”

Darcy ‘hmm’d quietly, unsure of what to say to that. They stood for a moment in an awkward silence, neither of them moving away from the window, before Steve suddenly thrust his coffee at her.

“Want some?”

She glanced between the coffee and Steve, taking in his awkward expression.

“Uh…”

“Of course you don’t, sorry,” he said quickly. “I’m sure you’d rather have your own. Do you want one? I can go get you one.”

Darcy watched as a pink stain stole over his neck and cheeks, and she almost wanted to smile despite her knowing exactly why he was so nervous around her. It was hard to resist the earnestness of Captain America, complete with the anxious back of the neck rubbing, and the awkward shuffling of the feet. Feeling suddenly generous, Darcy decided to cut him some slack and reached out for the coffee.

“Sure, but I’ll keep this one, thanks,” she said, taking a sip. It was way too sweet for her tastes, but she could hardly give it back. “You don’t have any cooties, do you?”

He blinked at her. “Cooties?”

“Yeah, you know? ‘Circle, circle, dot, dot, now I’ve got my cooties shot’?”

His look of confusion lasted for another second before he suddenly grinned. “Your idea of cooties must be different from mine.”

Darcy tilted her head at him, a slight frown on her brow. “Why? What’s your idea of cooties?”

“Fleas, mostly. Bed bugs. Vermin in general.”

“ _Fleas_!”

“So you’re not asking me if I’m infected with bugs?” he asked, still grinning.

“No!” She huffed, half a laugh, half exasperation. “It’s a child’s game. Usually boys would tease their friends if they touched a girl. As in,” she put on a whiney voice, “eeeew, now you’ve got girl cooties.”

Steve chuckled and shook his head. “Soldiers called fleas and other bugs cooties. It was common to get them when you ate, slept, and lived in pit of mud.”

“I can only imagine,” she said, shaking her head. “Though, now that I think about it, I have no idea why I expected you to know what the hell I was talking about.”

He shrugged slightly, his smile turning a bit sad. “It’s nice, sometimes, when people forget about Captain America.”

Darcy nodded but, again, didn’t know what to say to that. If she felt closer to him she might ask him what it was like being Captain America, both then and now, but not only did she barely know him, they didn’t exactly have a solid track record to work from. Silence reigned again between them and Darcy took another sip of his coffee, the sugary taste washing over her tongue.

“I don’t really know what to do for him,” Steve said suddenly. “The doctors…He won’t let them near him. It’s the only time he really responds to anything, is when they try to get close. They can’t take anymore blood, and they can’t hook him up to an IV. He’s not eating, or drinking. I don’t know how long he can hold on like this.”

“And you have no idea when Professor Xavier is going to be available,” Darcy said, voicing the unspoken thought between them.

Steve didn’t say anything, which she appreciated. He might have been trying to pressure her, but she didn’t really think so. She was the one who had sought out the Sergeant’s room, and Steve couldn’t have known that she’d be there. Besides, if this was his idea of putting on the pressure then he’d have made a pretty shitty S.H.E.I.L.D agent.

Darcy took one final sip of his coffee before holding it out to him. “I have to go get ready for work,” she told him. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“Finish it,” he said.

She smiled slightly and shook her head. “Way too much sugar,” she confessed, wiggling the cup a bit. “I promise, I don’t have cooties.”

His lips turned up in a soft smile then, and he took the cup from her. “Should I ask the nurse about a cooties shot, just in case?”

Darcy chuckled and turned on her heel. “You totally should…Make sure she doesn’t have an actual needle in her hand, though. She just might stab you with it.”

 _ **-**_ _**✮**_ _**-**_

Darcy required directions from JARVIS in order to find the gym. Apparently there was more than one, though that really shouldn’t have surprised her, considering whom the Tower belonged to. She walked into a large, well-lit room, one side lined with mirrors and mats, the other side liberally decorated with weight lifting equipment. In the middle of the mats was the Widow, her legs spread wide in a split and her upper body bowed elegantly over one leg.

“Okay, so there’s something you should know before we start,” Darcy said in lieu of a greeting. “Actually, two things.”

The Widow straightened up and looked at her for a second before her eyes dropped to Darcy’s chest and she straight up grinned. Darcy looked down at her shirt and blushed a bit.

“Oh, well, um....” On her ample chest was a cute cartoon picture of a rooster standing beside a kitten. Underneath it were the words ‘I’ll take both’.

“Interesting choice of attire,” the Widow remarked mildly, lips still twisted into a smile.

“It was this or the ‘I Sell Crack for the CIA’ one,” Darcy admitted. “Laundry day is fast approaching.”

Romanov shook her head slightly and straightened out of her stretch, shaking out her limbs. Darcy took in her long sleeved shirt and work out pants, pretty much the same outfit as Darcy wore, minus the sexual innuendo shirt. On the floor where she’d been stretching were the same gloves that Darcy held in her hand.

“What did you want to tell me?” the Widow asked, bending her arm behind her back in a manner that didn’t look humanly possible to Darcy.

“First off, one, or both of us, is going to leave here with something broken,” Darcy said in a rush. “Probably me, let’s be honest here, but seriously, it’s inevitable. I’m a liability problem, you should probably be forewarned.”

Romanov’s eyebrows went up but she simply looked mildly amused, if her continuing smile was anything to go by. “As I said earlier, I am prepared for a challenge.”

“And uh, the second thing was, well, you see…” Darcy bit her lip as the other woman simply _watched_ her, face suddenly wiped clean of any previous emotion. It was incredibly intimidating, which was probably why she did it. “The thing is, I can move shit with my mind.”

And _Lord_ , she could have said that better.

The Widow’s eyes widened slightly and her head tilted to the side as if examining Darcy from another angle might reveal more information, but other than that, she didn’t react.

“Show me.”

“Uhmm…”Darcy’s mind cast about for something, before she remembered the gloves in her hand. She held them out, palm up, and concentrated on them. Slowly, they rose and levitated about a foot away from her palm. Darcy risked a glance at the other woman. Her blue eyes were zeroed in on the gloves.

“The others, they don’t know about this, do they?”

Darcy released her hold on the gloves, letting them drop. She managed to catch one, but the other she had to scoop off the floor. “Uh, no. Well, Jane knows. But none of the other Avengers. I didn’t exactly want to tell them…before.”

The Widow nodded briefly, her hard eyes sweeping over Darcy now. “What else can you do?”

“That’s all of it.”

Romanov crossed her arms over her chest. “And how strong is this power?”

“Uh…I don’t know? I mean, I can’t do anything super with it,” Darcy said, shrugging. “Mostly, I just use it when I’m too lazy to get up from the couch.”

Romanov’s lip twitched ever so slightly, and Darcy would have missed it had she not been paying such close attention for the other woman’s reaction to her news. It gave her hope that all was still well.

Slowly, the Widow began walking around Darcy, her arms still crossed over her chest, but her eyes now focusing on different parts of Darcy’s body.

“For a civilian, your form is good,” she said abruptly. “You’re not overweight, or physically deformed. This will make things slightly easier for you.”

“Slightly?” Darcy echoed.

“You eat too much junk food,” Romanov said. “Really, you’re lucky that your metabolism is as good as it is, or you _would_ be fat, not just curvy. If you’re going to take this training seriously,” and here she paused, giving Darcy a look that clearly communicated that anything else simply wasn’t an option, “the junk food has to stop. No more snacks, no more sugary drinks.”

“No more Pop-Tarts?” Darcy was aghast.

Romanov’s lips _definitely_ twitched then. “No more Pop-Tarts,” she echoed. “No pop, juice, chips, cookies…none of it.” She reached out and poked Darcy’s hip. “You will replace your softness with muscle.”

“I thought you just said I’m not fat,” Darcy said, a tad defensively. She was quite used to not being the typical beauty—Romanov was right, she was definitely a _curvy_ woman—but that didn’t mean it didn’t sting when men’s eyes skipped over every part of her except for her breasts.

“You’re not. You’re a beautiful woman,” Romanov said simply. Darcy blushed slightly at the compliment, but the other woman either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. “But you are a _soft_ woman. For a civilian, that’s fine, but you are more than that and you know it.” Romanov stopped in front of her, her expression calm and serious. “You’re part of the Avengers circle, part of Dr. Foster’s work, and you’re a mutant. There is a target on your back and being a soft, beautiful woman will not save your life when the time comes. This is your choice, but if you wish to learn how to protect yourself then you will have to change your lifestyle.”

Darcy didn’t really have to think about it. She knew Romanov was right long before she even finished speaking. This was something Darcy _wanted_ , desperately. It would be nice, she thought, to not always feel so vulnerable, to not feel like a handicap the next time a Destroyer decided to pop by.

“Well, I guess fewer Pop-Tarts is probably better for me in the long run, huh?”

Romanov smiled slightly and nodded, approval in her expression. “Probably.”

From then on, she began laying out Darcy’s new schedule. In the evenings or the mornings, whenever she could find time, she would begin a workout regimen. The Widow gave her the option of either running or swimming for her cardio and Darcy opted for the swimming since it meant less bouncing of her breasts. When she wasn’t doing a cardio day, she’d do weight training. Romanov produced a few sheets of paper with instructions on weight and repetition and began showing her which machines she would need and how to use them.

“When am I going to learn how to choke a man out with my thighs?” Darcy asked, much later.

“I didn’t choke him out,” the Widow corrected, looking perilously close to rolling her eyes. “Though I could have.”

“Minor detail,” Darcy waved a dismissive hand. “Show me how to kill men with my thunder thighs.”

At that, Romanov actually _laughed_. Darcy stared at her for half a heartbeat—mostly in shock—before she joined in.

“We’ll work up to that,” the Widow said, still laughing. “First, you’ll learn basic defense techniques. Come, grab your gloves. We’ll start now.”

 _ **-**_ _**✮**_ _**-**_

She was exhausted, both mentally and physically.

Her body ached in places that she didn’t even know _could_ ache, but she probably should have expected that when she was training with Natasha Romanov, a woman with a famous, and slightly macabre, reputation for killing people without a weapon.

So why she found herself pressing the button on the receptionist’s desk on the medical floor once again was a mystery even to her.

Turning the corner towards his room, she wasn’t even remotely surprised to find Steve standing there, paper cup in hand once again. He looked up at the sound of her footsteps but he didn’t exactly look surprised to see her either.

“You look tired,” he observed.

“Understatement of the century,” Darcy agreed, coming to stand beside him and looking through the window. “Any change?”

The slight smile on his face dropped off and he turned back to the window. “He almost killed a doctor today.”

Darcy blinked in shock. “ _Why?_ ”

Steve sighed heavily, making his shoulders rise and fall and drawing Darcy’s attention to just how _tight_ everything he wore seemed to be. Something told her that it wasn’t vanity, but rather a lack of other options considering his size.

“The doctor tried to force an IV into his arm,” he told her. “It was like a switch had been flipped inside of him. He went from docile and harmless to…” Steve hesitated and glanced down at her. “He became the man who shot me again.”

Darcy looked back at the man in the room, sitting in the same corner as she’d last seen him, still as a statue. If Steve hadn’t told her differently she would have assumed that he hadn’t moved an inch since that morning.

“I want to help him,” she said, still looking at the soldier. “But I’m not willing to sacrifice myself for him.”

“I understand that.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” Darcy disagreed, looking up at Steve. “That’d be like me saying I understand what it’s like to fight in a war, or sleep for seventy years and wake up to an entirely new world.”

True understanding washed over his face, and he nodded slowly. “You can’t understand, but you can try,” he said.

“Exactly,” she agreed. “His mind is like a box.” She gestured with her head towards his friend. “A box that’s been painted black, sealed shut, and stuck in the deep freezer. I’m afraid of going back into that box.”

Steve didn’t say anything. What could he say, really? Darcy sucked in a breath, and her stomach jumbled with nerves. She wasn’t sure she was making the right choice, but neither was she sure that she could live with herself if she didn’t try to help. It was what had brought her into his room in the first place, despite the knowledge that she could expose herself and her powers.

“I’ll try to reach him again,” she said, “under two conditions.”

He turned to her, and there was naked hope plastered all over his face. “What conditions?” he breathed.

“Someone must be in there with me, at all times. JARVIS can monitor my vitals while I’m with him, but someone has to be there to separate me from him if I can’t do it myself.”

“Done,” Steve said instantly.

Darcy held up a hand. “It has to be someone who can take him on, not a nurse or a doctor. It has to be one of the Avengers, preferably you or Agent Romanov, or Thor if he was around. If he’ll flip out on a doctor for trying to put a needle in his arm there’s no telling what he might to do to me if I’m poking around in his mind.”

“Done,” Steve said again. “I’ll stay with you.”

“The other condition is that you get Professor Xavier as soon as you can,” she continued. “He’s an incredibly strong mutant, and he’s trained for this shit, whereas I am definitely _not_.” Darcy looked up at him seriously. “You need to understand that. I’m not a psychologist, or a psychiatrist, or anything like that.”

That got his attention, and he glanced back over his shoulder towards the window and his friend. “Do you think you could accidentally hurt him?”

Slowly, Darcy shook her head. “I don’t think so. My power doesn’t manifest physically…” She winced and corrected herself. “Well, not in that way at least.”

Steve raised an eyebrow at her, and Darcy waved a dismissive hand. “I can move shit with my mind, but not really far, and only small things. I’m not putting on a show right now.”

“You can…move things? With your mind?”

He looked incredibly sceptical and that got Darcy’s back up. Her unwillingness to perform her little party trick for the third time in less than 24 hours disappeared. “You know what?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I _will_ demonstrate. Drop your coffee.”

“What?”

“Drop. It.”

Steve shot her another sceptical look but did as she demanded, holding his coffee out a bit and then releasing the cup. It was cocky of her—she’d never done such a thing before, it required her to concentrate on not only the paper cup, but its contents as well—but her pride demanded it. Focusing on the shape of the cup, the ugly orange and brown of the paper, and the scent of fresh coffee, Darcy’s eyes followed the movement of the cup’s fall until it abruptly stopped about mid-thigh level. Slowly, it rose until it was back at its previous height, hovering a scant few inches away from Steve’s hand.

Darcy reached out and snagged the cup from midair, looking up at Steve’s utterly gobsmacked expression with a hint of smug pride. “And not a drop spilled. Pick your jaw up off the floor, Captain.”

His eyes darted between the cup and her face, his lips slightly parted in shock. “You…I…Wow. That must be…incredibly helpful.”

Darcy made a ‘kinda sorta’ face, shrugging her shoulders. “I’m starting to feel like a performing monkey,” she told him. “That’s the third time I’ve done that.”

“But…” He hesitated, glancing down at her hands. “Can’t you use that to protect yourself?”

“From your friend?”

“From anyone,” he clarified. “Before you said that you can’t defend yourself.” He nodded at her hands. “Seems like a pretty good defence to me.”

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Nope. I told you, no big stuff. It’s pretty much limited to my physical strength. I couldn’t throw your friend off me with my power any more than I could with my arms.”

“Oh.” He almost sounded disappointed. “Well.”

“Which is why you need to be in there,” she said, jerking her thumb towards the room. “Or someone who can take him.”

He followed the direction her thumb and his face took on a distinct look of determination. “I’ll be in there,” he said after a moment, turning his intense blue eyes on her. “You have my word.”

Darcy eyed him warily. “You’re taking this awfully well.”

His eyebrows rose briefly and he tipped his head to the side. “I had a serum injected into me to make me a super soldier and slept in ice for seventy years,” he said dryly. “Your little trick is nothing.”

Her lips curled up at the corners. “Touché.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had every intention of getting this up on Friday after class, but then I worked 21 hours between Friday midday and Saturday night so that didn't happen.
> 
> I'm a little bit worried about the quality of this one. Please let me know your thoughts.

 

“You don’t have to come with me, you know,” Darcy said, letting herself into the medical ward and holding open the glass door for Jane.

“I know I don’t,” Jane said mildly. “But I want to.”

“For Science?” Darcy asked, glancing at her friend over her shoulder.

Jane shrugged, completely unabashed. “Maybe just a little bit.”

“Glad you got my back, bro,” Darcy joked.

“ _That_ is what Captain America is for,” Jane told her. “I still think you’re a little bit mental for willingly going into the room with that man. Again.”

They turned the corner, revealing Steve’s profile as he stood at the window to his friend’s room. Darcy didn’t bother to reply to Jane’s unvoiced question, because she’d already gone over it with the other woman several times since she’d revealed that she had agreed to try to help get Sergeant Barnes out of his own head. Jane hadn’t been all that thrilled, but she’d grudgingly let it go. Sort of.

“Hi,” Steve said, turning at the sound of their footsteps. “Dr. Foster. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Jane shrugged and stepped up to the window, peering in. “Curiosity.”

Steve’s eyebrows rose slightly, and the expression on his face told Darcy that he wasn’t totally happy with that answer. His eyes shifted between Jane and the hospital room beyond the glass, concern evident. Darcy could understand that concern—the reappearance of the famous Bucky Barnes seventy years after he was supposed to be dead would be enough to attract a hell of lot of attention but adding in the whole ‘brainwashed assassin’ bit and it was no wonder Steve was apparently a bit protective of his friend. He didn’t want Barnes to become a sideshow act, something to be gawked at.

“Curiosity is the scientist’s sin,” she told him. “She’s here more for me, than him.”

Jane turned around at that, crossing her arms over her chest. “Of course I’m here for you. I don’t even know him.”

“Yes, well…” Darcy shrugged. “I suppose we should, um, start.”

“Dr. Foster, you will remain out here,” Steve said, and there was no question that he was giving her an order.

Jane eyed him up and down for a moment, not even remotely cowed by his tone. Or his size, for that matter. “And if he goes berserk in there?”

“You will not be able to help from inside,” he told her plainly. “Inside you would be another person for me to protect. Outside, you’re in a better position to get help.”

Jane considered it for a moment before her shoulders relaxed slightly. “All right. I’ll wait out here.”

Steve gave her a brief nod and reached for the door, entering before Darcy. She was used to his well-bred manners, and this little act surprised her until she realised that he was most likely assessing the threat level his friend posed before he let her into the room. His broad back practically spanned the entire doorway, effectively blocking Darcy from sight of anyone inside, and keeping her in the dark about what was going on beyond the wall of All-American muscle. Before she could get worked up about what might be waiting for her, however, he stepped to the side, letting her into the room.

 

Nothing had changed, though she didn’t know why she’d expected that it might. If it had, she would have noticed earlier when she was standing right next to the window where Jane was currently watching them with a slightly anxious expression. Sergeant Barnes sat under said window, his eyes still riveted on the floor before him.

Darcy glanced at Steve, but he looked just as unsure as she felt, his eyes darting between his friend and her. Clearly, he wouldn’t be much help, she thought to herself.

“No time like the present,” she muttered under her breath, taking a step forward.

She didn’t want to startle him by standing over him, so she sat down and cautiously scooted forward on her butt, cleaning the linoleum with the ass of her jeans. She stopped when his sock clad toes almost brushed up against her pants.

Remembering that he didn’t react well to being called ‘Bucky’ she consciously avoided using that as she slowly reached out and touched his clothed leg. “Sergeant Barnes…” she tried, watching his face keenly for a reaction.

Nothing.

She brushed her hand up his bony shin, to the knob of his knee, the scrubs that they’d put him in feeling smooth under her fingertips. “Do you remember me, Sergeant?” she asked. He didn’t so much as blink. She tried a different tack, using his given name. “James? Can you hear me, James?”

Nothing.

Darcy glanced back at Steve and almost winced at the expression on his face. It was desolate, the pain in his eyes raw and hard to look directly at. He watched his friend’s face with a desperation that verged on manic.

She turned back and ran her hand over the leg in front of her, firmer this time. “Can you look at me?” She paused, hoping for a reaction, but nothing was forthcoming. Her heart skipped a beat as she opened her mouth again, “Bucky?”

As she’d expected, he flinched, his entire body jerking at the sound of that name. Behind her, Steve made a pained noise. Guilt flooded her.

“I’m sorry,” she told the unresponsive man, her words tumbling out of her in a rush. “I don’t think you like being called that name, but I had to check that you’re still listening. You’re not exactly a chatterbox, you know.” She squeezed his knee, trying to act as if she wasn’t speaking to a brick wall with a pulse. “I’m going to touch your hand now, okay? So, uh, please don’t…don’t grab at me like you did before, okay?”

It was like speaking to a coma patient despite the fact that his eyes were open and occasionally blinked. Part of her wanted to look back to Steve for reassurance, or up at where she knew Jane would be standing, her nose probably pressed to the glass, but she knew that neither of them were exactly in a position to reassure her.

Taking a fortifying breath, she bit the bullet and reached out with her hand, slipping her fingers over the back of his and her eyes fluttering shut.

Finally, she got a reaction, but it wasn’t the one she wanted.

He was waiting for her, and she felt him reach out, latching on to her like a drowning man in the middle of the ocean. His grip was like iron, his desperate fear flooding her mind. She tried to pull back, and he responded by holding on tighter to her, his mind doing the equivalent of a bear hug to hers. Panic shot through her, but she still had enough presence of mind to pull herself away from him physically.

She fell backwards, landing hard on the linoleum. Her head cracked painfully against the floor but the physical pain was nothing compared to the way her mind reeled from the sudden and violent disconnection. The world seemed to tip sideways, as if her equilibrium had been thrown out of whack, and she blinked hard against the blurriness of the world around her.

“Wha—” Her head felt fuzzy and thick, but she registered the feel of hands lifting her up by the shoulders, of a body behind hers.

There was a loud bang, quickly followed by Jane’s worried voice. “Darcy? Darcy, are you okay?”

“I think she might have hit her head on—”

“Why didn’t you damn well _catch_ her?”

“I didn’t expect her to just suddenly fall back! She seemed fine just a moment before!”

“She’s doing this for _you_ and you can’t even—”

“Ugh. Will you both shut up?” Darcy moaned, reaching up to rub at the back of her head. “Neither of you are helping right now.” Behind her, Steve shifted slightly, reminding her that he was actually somewhat helpful. “’Cept you, Steve. You make a good chair.”

He snorted. “Not exactly being a chair, am I?”

“Okay, maybe one of those pregnancy pillows you see in maternity stores. The ones for your back.”

“Oh, Christ, Darcy,” Jane groaned, slapping a hand against her face. “Are you all right?”

Darcy pushed herself up into a sitting position and rubbed her head. The world was mostly back in focus now, and while she could feel the beginnings of a headache forming, it was sourced at the spot where she’d knocked her skull on the floor.

“Yeah,” she said. “Just a goose egg, I think.”

“Why the hell did you fall backwards in the first place?” Jane demanded, kneeling in front of her, eyes anxious.

“He kind of got the jump on me,” Darcy explained. “But I’m ready for him this time.”

“You’re _not_ doing that again.”

She shot Jane a look. “The hell I’m not.”

“Darcy, you—”

“Am I a grown ass woman capable of making my own decisions?” Darcy interrupted sharply. “Why, yes I am. Thank you for noticing.”

Jane shut her mouth, her expression pinched and disapproving, but she didn’t continue. She glared at Steve behind her, as if everything were his fault, and then stood.

“Fine. But I’m staying in the room.”

“I don’t think—” Steve began but was cut off by Jane’s curt, “I’m _staying_.” Wisely, Darcy ignored them both and took up her previous position in front of Barnes.

She placed her hand on his knee. “What did I tell you about the grabby thing? You can’t do that, dude, it’s scary as fuck.” She patted the knee gently. “We’re going to try this thing again, okay?”

Darcy didn’t expect a response as she reached for his limp hand once more, and so she was incredibly shocked when that hand suddenly flexed, fingers stretching for a moment, as if anticipating her touch. Her gaze shot up to his face, but his expression was just as blank as before, his eyes still trained downwards. Still, it gave her a little surge of hope.

“Let’s do this,” she whispered, her voice so low that only he would hear it. Her fingers trembled slightly, but then there was the warmth of his hand under hers, and her mind sunk into his.

This time, she was ready for his mental launch. Before he could grab hold of her, before his emotions could flood her, she threw her own at him. It was Jane and her presence that inspired the idea, the memory of the two of them sharing emotions with each other through the connection of their palms. Just as she had done on that day, Darcy concentrated on her own emotions and _shoved_ them through their mental link.

She knew that he’d felt it, because all of a sudden he went still, both mentally and physically. With her eyes closed she couldn’t see his physical body, but she could still hear the room around her, the sound of four bodies breathing and living in close proximity. In front of her, his breath stuttered in his chest and halted. In her mind, she felt confusion, a trickle of it that slowly grew into a steady stream.

Confusion.

Darcy felt it like a blow and she almost wanted to cry. _Confusion_.

She’d thrown love at him. Love, and affection, and fondness, emotions pulled from her happiest memories. In the face of that, he could only be confused. He didn’t recognise what she’d shared with him, the emotions that were tied to so many moments of her life and that she always felt manifested as a fuzzy kind of warmth, right under her sternum. She pushed her emotions at him again, pushed that warmth that resided inside of her chest.

His confusion turned to fear.

He reared back mentally, and then it became Darcy who was clinging, holding on for dear life. She reached for him, trying to keep her own emotions level and calm, to project that on to him so that he might calm down.

He didn’t.

The fear increased, but it had no direction. It was not like before, when she had _known_ that it was the cold that needed to be feared. This was mindless, a wild panic that had his breath shuddering through his chest and his pulse racing beneath the skin of his hand.

 _James…_ She tried using words, projecting them into his mind. Using his title was too impersonal, and she wanted to build some sort of trust between them, and if calling him ‘Bucky’ from the safety outside of his mind made him upset then she didn’t want to know how he’d react if she said it while she was inside his head. _James, please. I’m not going to hurt you. Please, talk to me. Tell me how to help you!_

Abruptly, as if it had been triggered by her words, images began flashing through his mind. She could tell that he wasn’t purposefully sharing these with her. There was no flavour of intent on them, they were just memories floating through his consciousness. They were fragmented and blurry, as if he couldn’t quite hold them down, but she got the impression of a dimly lit room and the presence of people around her.

No. Not people. _Threats_.

And then the voice began. It was low, soothing almost, though she couldn’t make out any of the words. It floated around her in a constant loop, never breaking for breath or thought. Guilt flooded him at the sound of the voice, guilt and fear. Beneath her fingertips, his hand twitched.

_James. I don’t understa—_

A face floated into her mind, crystal clear where all of the others had been indistinct. It was a man, significantly older and greying but with the clear signs that he’d once been very handsome. His eyes were a bright, piercing blue, and they were locked on to hers, quietly furious. His mouth, framed by lines, began moving, but the words were indistinct and she couldn’t tell what he was saying.

_James, who is that man?_

The guilt she’d felt from him earlier surged again, and she felt it as if it were her own before he suddenly pulled away from her, the sensation sharp and abrupt enough in her mind that it startled her back into herself.

She blinked suddenly in the dim light of the room around her as sensations she’d forgotten about began to rush back in. Her body was stiff, her ass numb, and her lower back ached slightly. The world was blurry again, though she was thankful that there was no vertigo.

“Miss Lewis?”

Darcy visibly jumped and turned around, wincing as the motion made her muscles protest. Behind her was Steve, sitting on the floor with his back propped up against the wall and his long legs stretched out in front of him. Jane had remained standing, holding up the wall with one bony shoulder, her green eyes sharp and intent upon them.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I…Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

He learned forward, turning his gaze to Barnes. “Is he all right?”

Darcy glanced back at the silent man, sitting limply in the corner. “As much as he can be, I think,” she said honestly. Slowly, she rose to her knees and then stood. “Maybe we should try putting him in the bed. If my ass is numb, I can only imagine how his feels.”

Steve shot to his feet, surprisingly graceful for such a bulky man, and crossed the room to cautiously crouch before his friend. When the Sergeant didn’t react, Steve slowly slid the metal arm over his shoulders and hauled Barnes up. To Darcy’s surprise, he supported his own weight once he was upright, and as Steve turned to guide him toward the bed the other man took steps on his own. They were slow and unsteady, but they were steps all the same.

Some part of him was participating.

Darcy nearly swooned with relief, or maybe it was a lack of food. She reached out, grabbing the wall for support as a wave of exhaustion rolled over her.

“Miss Lewis?” Steve paused at the bedside where Barnes was half lying, one leg dangling off the side of the bed.

“Darcy.” Jane came forward, hands outstretched. She grabbed Darcy gently by the shoulders, guiding her towards a chair at the end of the hospital bed. Firmly, she pushed Darcy into it, her lips in a tight, grim line.

“Don’t give me that look,” Darcy grumbled up at her, relaxing into the chair. God, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so damn _tired._

“Why not? You give it to me all the time,” Jane countered, arching an eyebrow at her.

“That’s because you never eat. Or sleep. Or stop.”

Jane opened her mouth, probably to argue some more, when Steve cut in.

“What’s wrong? What can I do?”

Darcy opened her mouth to answer him, but instead she yawned in their faces.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” she said, clapping a hand over her mouth in embarrassment.

“Well then,” he said, mouth twitching a little. “Just tired?”

“And hungry,” she answered honestly. “My liver might be in danger of being consumed by my stomach.”

“I’ll go scrounge you up something,” Jane said. Darcy made a motion as if to rise and Jane placed a restraining hand on her shoulder. “Sit. Stay.”

Darcy glared at her. “Woof.”

Both Jane and Steve smirked. “Good Darcy,” Jane joked, turning on her heel and leaving the room before Darcy’s tired brain could come up with a response.

Steve turned his attention back to the bed. Gently, he lifted Barnes’ leg up on to the bed and tugged the sheets out from under him so that they could be draped over his body. It was a bit creepy to watch, especially since Barnes just stared at the ceiling as if he were in a vegetative state—and maybe he kind of was, she thought, reflecting on what she saw inside his head.

Darcy caught sight of the clock on the wall and gaped at it. “Eight? Holy crap.”

Steve turned back to her. “You’ve been sitting there for nearly four hours,” he confirmed.

Darcy yawned again, remembering to cover her mouth that time. “It didn’t feel that long at all. Maybe…20 minutes?”

Steve nodded absently, one large hand smoothing the crisp white sheet over his friend’s legs. “What…what did you see?”

She pulled one leg up under her, getting as comfortable as she could in the hospital chair. “I saw a room, and a man,” she told him. “The room was indistinct, out of focus. I know that there were people in the room, people that he felt threatened by, but I never saw any of their faces. The only face I saw was of an older man.” Darcy paused, thinking back to that face. “Actually, now that I think of it, he kind of looked like an older version of you.”

Steve stood next to the bed, his hands still on the sheet, but his eyes were intent upon hers as she described all that she had seen, heard, and felt from Barnes’ memories. As she spoke, his expression hardened.

“I think I know who that man was,” he said when she was finished. He reached into the pocket of his khakis and pulled out a StarkPhone. It looked too small and delicate for his big fingers, but he managed just fine, pulling up a photo and turning the screen her way.

“That’s him!” she exclaimed, leaning forward to look at what was clearly a professional business photo. The man was wearing a tailored three-piece suit and standing in a lavish, modern looking office. “Who is he?”

“His name was Alexander Pierce,” Steve said shortly, pocketing the phone. “He was Hydra.”

“Was?”

Steve gave her a pointed look and it clicked. “Ah,” she said simply.

Silence fell over them. Steve turned back to Barnes, his expression closed off and hard as he stared at his best friend. Darcy considered whether or not to tell him how she had stopped the Sergeant from overwhelming her again. He hadn’t asked, so perhaps he didn’t want to know, or didn’t think there was a special explanation. Part of her wanted to be transparent with him, but the look on his face gave her pause. Behind that practiced calm was a wounded man, and Darcy didn’t want to add to the weight already bowing his shoulders.

She yawned again, unable to help herself. “I should go back to my apartment,” she said, her head feeling muzzy with fatigue. “My liver will either survive or it won’t.”

“Livers are fairly important.”

Darcy waved a hand at him lazily. “They grow back.”

“Do they really?” Steve looked surprised and it took Darcy a moment to remember that he was a man born and raised in a time when physicians gave things like cigarettes a stamp of approval. From what she’d read about him in high school, he probably didn’t have much of a chance to get an education either; he’d been dirt poor before Project Rebirth and then he’d gone to war. It didn’t exactly leave a lot of time for intellectual stimulation. Neither did coming out of said ice and discovering that the world had moved on without you. He looked intrigued, though, so Darcy scooted her chair closer to the bed so that she could lean against it, and began explaining what she knew about the regeneration abilities of the liver, and how liver transplants were done. It was actually a subject she was fairly well versed on, considering that once upon a time she had done the research to become a donor herself—but, then again, being a woman’s daughter didn’t necessarily mean that you were a genetic match for organ donation. Because life just fucking sucked sometimes.

“They take a lobe from the donor and—”

The door opened abruptly, cutting off Darcy’s explanation, and Jane appeared holding two white plastic bags with boxes inside. The scent of food and grease wafted in with her and Darcy’s stomach let out a terrifying growl.

“I got you that disgusting fries thing that you like so much,” Jane said in lieu of a greeting. “And I had to wait forever for it, so you better enjoy it.”

“You got me poutine?” Darcy exclaimed, suddenly wide-awake and excited.

Jane piled her bags on the small table at the end of Barnes’ bed and dug through one to produce a white box with delicious grease stains already on it. It was filled to bursting, beef gravy and a lone fry spilling out of one corner.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Darcy moaned, reaching out for the food. “I fucking _love_ you.”

Jane smirked and held up a fork. “I thought you might.”

“What _is_ that?” Steve asked, watching as Darcy opened her container and made another noise, slightly more obscene than the first. She wasted no time in grabbing the fork and beginning to shovel fries, cheese, and gravy into her mouth.

“It’s a Canadian thing,” Jane explained, pulling out a few more boxes. “And it’s disgusting.”

Darcy made an indignant sound, pointing her fork at Jane threateningly. Jane was unfazed, however, as she rolled her eyes and held out a box to Steve.

“I got you a double burger, I hope that’s all right.”

“Oh.” He looked slightly surprised to be given food. “No, that’s fine. Thank you, Dr. Foster.”

Jane shrugged off his thanks and pulled out a burger of her own and a side of plain fries. They began to eat in silence, both Jane and Steve opting to stand rather than go find a chair. It was a bit odd, Darcy reflected silently, sitting in the room of a comatose man and eating greasy diner food, but then again her life hadn’t exactly been normal since, well, _ever_ really, but she only started counting when Thor fell out of thin air.

The silence continued, only broken by the sound of quiet chewing and the squeak of Styrofoam containers, but for once it wasn’t awkward or tense.

 _ **-**_ _**✮**_ _**-**_

The pool was quiet, dimly lit, and warm. It was not really conducive to waking a person up, especially a person like Darcy who hated the early morning hours. She was sorely tempted to fold her towel on to the floor and take a nap instead of doing laps, but she knew that the Widow would ask eventually and Darcy hated lying—especially to people who could kill you with the flick of a wrist.

The water was, thankfully, just shy of lukewarm, and it provided the little wake-up call that she needed in order to get going. Swimming was something she actually enjoyed, though she wished that reliable waterproof headphones were a thing that existed. The feel of her body being supported by the water, of her smooth motion forward, was soothing in a way that running just wasn’t. It probably had a lot to do with the fact that she practically had to wear body armour in order to run with breasts as large as hers were. It was both a blessing a curse, her body. She personally found curves and _softness_ (as the Widow had put it) to be attractive, but it was a double-edged sword when it came to buying bras off the rack, or just a simple pair of jeans that fit her ass properly. Not to mention the damn back problems that were definitely _not_ covered under student health insurance.

Darcy approached the wall and dove under the water, twisting as she did so that she could push off from the tiles. Her lungs burned with the need for oxygen and she surfaced, taking a deep breath of air. It wasn’t enough. By the time she reached the other end of the pool she found herself panting pretty hard, and after only _one_ lap. Granted, it was an Olympic sized pool, because Stark did not believe in doing things by halves, but _still_. She grabbed the side of the pool and treaded water lazily.

“Christ,” she muttered to herself, looking back at the other end of the pool. “Well, this sucks.”

She let her breathing calm down a bit before she pushed off the wall again, face first in the water. At least she wasn’t a smoker.

Time slipped by as Darcy swam, her mind wandering from one topic to another with no real purpose or destination. Sometimes she would tell herself little stories, but that morning her mind couldn’t, or wouldn’t, focus on any one topic for very long. In fact, she was so lost in _not_ thinking about anything that she almost missed the dulled sound of a familiar robot calling for her attention.

Darcy stopped mid-stroke and looked up, water in her ears and her goggles clouding her already challenged eyes. She could just make out the dark shape of what was undeniably DUM-E standing on the edge of the pool platform.

“What are you doing here?” she called to him. “You shouldn’t be in here. It’s too damp for you.” She pointed at the door that he’d most likely came in through. “Go on outside, silly.”

He made a trilling sound at her and raised his claw, as if in greeting.

“Yes, I’m happy to see you too, but I’m swimming right now DUM-E. Why don’t you meet me in the lab later?”

She was never wholly sure how much of her conversations with the robot were actually understood, and as she watched him she was fairly certain the answer was ‘slim to none’ because instead of turning around and leaving the pool, the stupid robot rolled forward.

Right off the edge and into the pool.

Darcy had a moment of sheer panic, and made an instinctive lunge toward the edge, though she’d never make it in time, but when the splash and the terrified squeal of the robot did not accompany any blinding pain indicative of being electrocuted, Darcy relaxed for a moment, turning around in time to see poor DUM-E sink to the bottom of the pool like he was a bag of rocks..

“Oh, no.” She watched as his lights flickered and went out. Clearly, he was not waterproof. She swam over to the shallow end of the pool—thank _god_ he’d not been near the deep end—and reached under the water to get a grip on his claw. It quickly became apparent, however, that she would not be getting him out of the pool on her own. Hell, she wouldn’t even be tugging him closer to the wall.

“JARVIS?”

“Yes, Miss Lewis.”

“Is Captain Rogers in the building by any chance?”

“Captain Rogers is in the medical ward.”

“Can you ask him to come down here and help me?” she asked. “If he’s not too busy.”

“Of course, Miss Lewis.”

The room went silent, the gentle lap of water against tile broken only by her futile attempts to move DUM-E. Adjusting her goggles, Darcy dropped beneath the surface to take a closer look at his structure, hoping to find a place where she might disassemble part of him and make it easier for her and Steve to get him out of the water. She’d made three or four of these checks when she surfaced to find Steve standing at the edge of the pool.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you that robots don’t belong in pools?” he asked, his tone teasing.

“How would you know, Mr. I-Was-Born-In-The-20s?” she snarked back, pulling her goggles off.

Steve shook his head, still smiling. “I was born in 1919. Check your facts.”

“Yeah, cause they totally had robots in 1919,” she said. “Now, do you think you can help a gal out here?”

Steve pulled his shoes and socks off, taking his phone and wallet out of his pocket before he slipped into the pool. “How did this happen?”

“I think he wanted to say hi,” Darcy explained. “I’m not sure he knows what water is.”

“His name is DUM-E for a reason, Miss Lewis,” intoned JARVIS, making both her and Steve look up. Steve chuckled as he crouched down and got a good grip on DUM-E. When Darcy made to copy him, he shook his head at her.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.”

“Are you sure?” she asked dubiously. “I mean, I know you’re Captain America and all, but he’s solid titanium. He ain’t no feather duster.”

“I’ve got it,” Steve insisted.

“O-kay.” Darcy backed off, giving him plenty of room.

She watched as Steve got his feet under him, adjusted his grip, and then lifted DUM-E straight up. Her mouth dropped open slightly as he turned to her and grinned.

“See? I told you, I go—”

Without warning, Steve lost his footing against the slippery tile. He went down fast, DUM-E in his arms. Water splashed everywhere, and for a second Darcy felt her heart stutter in her chest, but then Steve was pushing DUM-E off of him and rising to the surface, spluttering.

“You got it, huh?” Darcy asked, trying hard not to laugh.

Steve rubbed water out of his eyes and glared at her. “Shut up.”

Darcy snorted, and then giggled, and then burst into loud guffaws that echoed off the walls of the poolroom, bouncing around and making it sound as if there were several people laughing at once. Steve continued to glare, but with his blonde hair plastered to his skull and the sullen look on his face he looked a petulant child, and it only made her laugh harder.

“This is what I get for helping you,” he grumbled, reaching down for DUM-E again.

This time, Steve was prepared when he lifted the robot in his arms. Darcy’s giggles died out as she watched his muscles flex under the grey t-shirt that clung to every curve and dip of his body. Water ran off of both man and robot as Steve hefted DUM-E above his head and turned towards the ledge, putting his burden down with a surprising gentleness.

He turned back to Darcy and shot her a grin that made her insides do a strange little wiggle. “I told you, I got it.”

Without waiting for a response, he hauled himself out of the pool, water rushing off of him in rivulets and creating a huge puddle on the tiles. Darcy shook her head, trying to physically dislodge the image of Steve in soaking wet clothes. It wouldn’t do to develop a crush on Captain America.

“Where to?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“Where do you want to take him?” Steve clarified.

“Oh, probably should take him to Stark’s workshop,” Darcy said. She grabbed the side of the pool, prepared to haul herself out, when Steve offered his hand to her.

“Uh…” She glanced at his hand. “Thanks but no thanks.”

Realisation dawned over his face. “Oh. Right.” He pulled his hand back and stood up, looking mighty awkward. “Sorry.”

Darcy pulled herself out of the pool, trying not to be self conscious about the fact that she was standing in front of Captain America wearing a one piece that still managed to leave absolutely nothing to the imagination.

“No biggie,” she said. “How’re we going to get him upstairs though?”

Steve looked down at the pile of broken robot for a second, shrugged, and then picked DUM-E up once again as if he weighed nothing. “Grab my stuff, will you?” he asked, only a slight strain in his voice.

Darcy hurried to scoop up his discarded items, along with her own shorts, flip-flops, and towel. Her clothes were in the locker room but they would be fine there until DUM-E was dropped off. She scurried after him, her flip-flops slapping madly as she followed the wet trail he left behind, hugging everything to her chest and hoping that Steve wouldn’t mind if his socks were a bit damp.

They squeezed into the elevator, Steve trying to not bang the robot off the walls and leave dents in the glossy wood, and JARVIS began the descent to Stark’s workshop without a word.

“This is really awkward, isn’t it?” Steve asked suddenly.

“Yeah,” Darcy agreed. “I’m dripping.”

“That made it more awkward.”

“Yep.”

The doors opened to an expectant Barton, who stopped mid-step when he spotted who was occupying the elevator, and a male Stark Industries employee whom Darcy didn’t recognise.

“Well, this is different,” Barton said, eyeing the pair of them. The young man beside Barton gave her the ‘up and down’ and smirked. Darcy, still standing in nothing but her suit and swimming cap, felt her awkward meter shoot straight up.

“DUM-E decided to go for a swim,” Steve supplied easily. “Now move.”

Both Barton and the SI man jumped out of the way as Steve strode forward, one drowned robot in his arms, and an incredibly embarrassed Darcy in his wake. She absolutely refused to look back as she followed him, her flip-flops sounding loudly in the hall, and her mind trying to imagine just how bad her ass looked in that moment.

“JARVIS?” Steve grunted as they reached the glass walls that separated Stark’s workshop from the rest of the floor. “Little help?”

“Of course, Captain. Might I suggest you brace yourselves?”

The glass door swung open and music—incredibly _loud_ music—practically slapped them in the face. Darcy recognised it as something from the 70s—the wailing of the guitar was pretty distinctive—but it wasn’t a hit song, or at least not one that she recognised. Stark was on the opposite end of the room, a protective mask over his face as he used a blowtorch to heat a piece of metal.

“Stark!” Steve called, trying to pitch his voice over the music. “Stark!”

The other man looked up suddenly, though Darcy couldn’t see his eyes or his expression behind the mask. He made a gesture with his hand and suddenly the music cut off, leaving a slight ringing in Darcy’s ears.

Stark pushed the mask up and released the trigger on the blowtorch. “What the fuck, Rogers? What’d you do to my robot? And why the hell are you dripping all over my floor?”

“Where do you want him?”

“What?”

Steve sighed. “Where do you want him?” he repeated, speaking as if Stark were a child.

Stark gestured to the side of the room. “You still haven’t told me what the hell happened to him,” he said, following Steve as he walked over and gently put the robot down.

“He fell in the pool.”

“He fell in the _pool_?” Stark echoed. “What the hell was he doing down there?”

Steve looked to Darcy, and Stark followed his gaze. She watched as he took in her attire, and the items she still held pressed to her chest, and snorted.

“Figures. He’s in love with you,” he said scornfully. “What the hell made you think he’d be able to swim?”

“I never thought he could swim,” Darcy said defensively. “He just rolled right into the pool before I could do anything!”

Stark glanced at DUM-E and rubbed one grease stained hand over his face, leaving black smudges on his cheeks and brow. “Idiot,” he muttered.

“You’re the one who made him that way,” Darcy pointed out.

“It wasn’t on purpose!” Stark said. He gestured at the robot with one hand. “I realised he was dumber than a sack of shit when I turned him on, but I was too lazy to fix him.”

“So it’s your fault he doesn’t know that he can’t swim,” Steve said.

“If we’re going to compare who knows what, you’re still going to lose to my idiot robot, Capsicle.”

Steve rolled his eyes and turned to Darcy, holding out his hands. “I’ll take that from you, thanks.” He relieved her of his stuff, enabling her to finally wrap her towel around her waist without dropping everything she held on to the floor.

“Sorry, your socks are a bit wet,” she mumbled.

“The rest of him is wet, he won’t notice,” Stark said.

“It’s not a big deal,” Steve said, ignoring Stark. “Thanks, Miss Lewis”

“I should be the one thanking you.” She watched as he stuffed his phone and wallet in his dry shoes. “I would never have gotten him out of the pool on my own.”

Steve shrugged slightly. “Glad to help,” he told her, smiling sweetly.

Behind him, Stark snorted and turned back to his work. “Jesus, you’re killing me here. Get out.”

Steve shot a look at the back of Stark’s head. “Are you going to fix him?”

Stark waved an uninterested hand. “When I have the time.”

The answer seems to satisfy Steve, but Darcy felt a pang at the thought of a DUM-E free workday. She looked over at the sad pile of metal that he was, still wet from the pool, with all of his lights off.

“I’ll do it,” she said suddenly. Both Stark and Steve looked at her.

“You’ll do what?” Stark asked.

“Fix him.”

Stark’s eyes roved over her, his expression inscrutable. It irritated the hell out of her that they all seemed capable of keeping their face’s carefully blank when they wanted to. It was as if they had all attended a seminar and she had missed the memo. Darcy forced herself not to fidget despite the fact that she still felt exposed—even more so with Stark staring her down.

“Fine,” he said after a long pause. “I listen to my music loud. Don’t like it? Get out.”

Darcy and Steve looked at each other, both apparently just as shocked as the other.

“JARVIS!” Stark called, turning back to his workstation once more. “Music!”

The music picked up exactly where it had left off, at an ear-shattering decibel. Darcy recognised the dismissal and, with Steve, she headed to the doors.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! (Whew. My Canadian heart can rest easy now).
> 
> I haven't edited this. At all. So I apologise for that as well. I figure I could either write and then post, or write and then maybe edit it next week. I should be studying right now, but clearly I'm not.
> 
> Rumour has it that the midterm madness will end after the 2nd week of November but I'll believe it when I'm allowed to sleep again.
> 
> As always, feed back and comments are welcome.

The beat of the drum reverberated through the floor and up through Darcy’s body, joining in with the sound of her heart. She moved swiftly, each shift of her stance in time with the beat of the drum. It was monotonous, but soothing at the same time. Instead of putting her to sleep, it seemed to settle a part of her that she didn’t know had been wild and flighty. With each beat she took up a new stance, a new move that had been taught to her by the Widow. It was an exercise in muscle memory, and Darcy was starting from the beginning exactly like a kid taking martial arts—only her teacher was a lot less indulgent when it came to distraction.

“Tuck your elbows in,” the Widow said suddenly. Darcy felt fingers lightly jab at her lower ribs. “You leave yourself open here. If you’re hit here,” another light jab of her finger, farther back, “and these ribs break, it will puncture your kidneys.”

“That’d suck,” Darcy said, slightly out of breath. The drum beat at a fairly quick tempo and she had to keep up with it, even if her body had started to ache or her lungs heaved.

“It would,” the Widow agreed, stepping back to observe once more. “Resume.”

Darcy did as she was told, moving seamlessly into the next position. When she wasn’t doing her cardio or lifting weights she was being put through her paces like a show horse, but it was starting to pay off. She hardly had to think about the next position before her body was moving into it and that, she supposed, was pretty much the point of the constant repetition.

“I don’t understand how this is going teach me to fight,” Darcy confessed. “It’s not like my opponent is going to agree on a fighting pattern before he or she wipes the floor with me.”

She was, fortunately, facing the Widow as she spoke and was able to catch the lift of her lips as she smiled slightly. “No one will wipe the floor with you when I’m done teaching you,” the other woman promised. “This is to teach you the proper form for each attack and offense.”

Romanov stepped into Darcy’s pattern like a trickle of water joining a flood, it was seamless and in perfect sync. She began countering each of Darcy’s moves, falling into the same rhythm as the drum. “This is to teach you to bring your arm up in a certain position when you see an attack coming at your head,” she said as they moved, her hand making a graceful arc towards Darcy’s skull just as Darcy raised her arm. They didn’t make contact, but it was clear how they were meant to.

“What if I forget?”

“You won’t forget if you always practice,” the Widow assured her. “It will become instinct.”

“You do these patterns?” Darcy asked sceptically. “When you’re not teaching me, that is.”

The Widow smiled that little smile of hers again. “I practice in other ways.”

Darcy huffed a laugh. It was an awkward sound, considering that she was kind of out of breath and even talking was a bit of a challenge. “You mean you beat the shit out of people.”

That little smile grew wider and became distinctly more mischievous. “Yes,” Romanov admitted, with a slight tilt to her head. “Like I said, practice.”

She stepped out of the dance they were doing, making Darcy’s mock kick hit nothing but thin air. “You may stop,” she said, peeling her gloves off finger by finger. “We are done for today.”

Darcy let out a relieved breath. Her body was slowly getting used to the work, but it was an uphill battle considering she’d spent most of her life doing nothing more strenuous than the occasional move from apartment to apartment or a mad dash for the bus. She tried not to drag her feet as she walked over the bench and picked up her towel and water bottle, using the former to wipe the sweat off of her face and neck. It bothered her to no end when her hair stuck to her sweaty skin.

She looked up at the Widow as she took a swig from her bottle, noting that the redhead looked like she’d been lounging about all day despite the fact that she’d gotten in a fairly good workout as well—she always did during their sessions.

“It’s unnatural how little you sweat,” Darcy said, wiping her face with her towel again. “Is there something in the water over in Russia or am I just a beast of a woman?”

Romanov looked up at her and flashed a small smile, but it wasn’t the one that Darcy was used to. She was used to the one that was almost shy and bashful, as if not sure that smiling was allowed. This one looked hard and forced, lips pulled unwillingly around teeth.

“There’s a lot of things that are unnatural about me, but my sweat is not one of them.”

She turned away from Darcy, gathering up her things, and Darcy was suddenly struck with the feeling that she’d stuck her foot in her mouth—although how was a mystery.

“Hey, Agent Romanov—I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” Darcy asked tentatively. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

The Widow turned, her face wiped clean of any and all emotion. “You didn’t,” she said, her tone just as blank as her face. She swung her gym bag over her shoulder and gave Darcy a nod of the head. “I’ll see you in two days.”

Darcy watched her leave the gym, still feeling like she’d managed to shove her foot in her mouth. Perhaps both of them. With a sigh, she peeled off her gloves and ran a hand over her face. She felt disgusting.

Grabbing her own gym bag, she headed for the change rooms and the showers that lay within. She’d stopped being shocked and mildly offended by the luxury that Tony Stark surrounded himself with in absolutely respect and had instead started to enjoy it. This was particularly true when it came to the showers in any part of the Tower. Normal gyms had stalls that had a door with a lock and a showerhead that gave enough pressure if you were lucky. Stark’s showers were made of frosted glass and had no less than six showerheads positioned all around so that the bather could enjoy a full body aquatic massage if they so pleased, or stand under a gentle waterfall if it tickled their fancy.

Decisions, decisions.

She lingered under the spray, rotating sore muscles that were learning the hard way just what exercises could be done with a 25lb dumbbell, and thinking of all the things that needed to be done. Jane’s spectrometer required a new calibration after she’d changed the program’s parameters _again_ and while Jane was a brilliant woman, hardware was not her forte. Her last blunder with causing the spectrometer to overheat not withstanding, Jane couldn’t be trusted to not put windshield wiper fluid in the transmission of her car. Never mind the fact that Darcy couldn’t figure out how Jane had even _accessed_ the transmission in order to drain the fluid and replace it with the car version of Windex. Jane had skills when it came to breaking machines, and Darcy was none too inclined to let her anywhere near the beautiful creature that she’d spent the better part of three months designing and building.

Then there was the anchors for the Einstein-Rosen bridge that Jane wanted to build to get Thor back, if only so she could punch him on his perfect jaw for having her shipped off to Tromsø and Darcy along with her. Not that Darcy would complain. Norway was a beautiful country and it was cold enough that she could wear her gloves most of the time without looking out of place. As much as Darcy wanted to see her favourite Nordic god again, the anchors had taken the back burner in her mind, if not in Jane’s.

Sergeant Barnes— _James_ , as she’d been calling him in her mind—had suddenly become the focus of her days, and was that really healthy? She didn’t even know the man, and yet here she was, spreading herself thin to try to pull him out of his head. She was way out of her depth with him, and she felt like she was stumbling around blind. Stumbling led to tripping, and that’s how people got hurt. She tipped her face back into the water and then shut everything off.

“JARVIS?” she asked, reaching for a towel.

“Yes, Miss Lewis?”

“Is there any way for me to contact Professor Xavier myself?” She wrapped the towel around herself and stepped out of the shower. “I know one of the Avengers has reached out to him, and that he’s on some sort of personal thing, but I was wondering if I might send him some sort of message myself?”

“That can be arranged, Miss Lewis. Would you prefer a voice message, or a transcript?”

“Oh. Um…” Darcy sat down on the bench in front of her locker and thought about it for a moment. “A voice message is more personal, isn’t it? Let’s do that.”

“Of course, Miss. Would you like to do it now?”

She looked down at herself. “Just voice, right JARVIS?”

“That is correct. There are no video cameras in this room, nor in the showers.”

“Really?” she asked, intrigued. “I thought you saw all?”

“I do see all, Miss Lewis,” JARVIS replied, and if it was possible he sounded just a tad affronted. “Heat sensing cameras track your movement without violating your privacy.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” she said honestly. “Okay, so…do I just start talking?”

“Correct.”

“All right. So, um…Hello Professor Xavier. My name is Darcy Lewis, you might have heard of me already, and I’m sorry for bothering you.” She paused, feeling awkward. It was odd, almost like talking to herself but…not. She hated leaving normal voice messages, and this was especially uncomfortable. “I know that you’re dealing with some sort of personal business right now but I find myself in need of some serious help. I’m afraid that I’m going to make things worse than they already are and…” She paused again, unsure of what she wanted to say. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, and I’m scared that I might. I don’t know what I’m doing, I’ve never done this kind of thing before.” Once she started, the words began rushing out of her. “What if I screw up his head even more than he already is? I don’t even know if that’s possible, because he’s pretty fucked up as is, but what if? I’ve spent most of my life trying to _not_ use my powers and now… now it’s like I’m being thrown in the deep end and it’s sink or swim but sinking isn’t an option because it could ruin not just his life, or even _my_ life but Ste—Captain America’s too.” She dropped her head into her hands and took a deep breath. “This isn’t the kind of message I planned on leaving but…I need help, sir, and I’m not above begging so please, if you can spare any time at all, I just… I need some advice.”

She looked up at the ceiling, a reflexive habit when interacting with JARVIS. “Uhm, that’s it JARVIS.”

“Your message has been recorded. Would you like it played back to you?”

Darcy snorted. “God, no.”

“Would you like it to be sent then, Miss?”

Part of her wanted to say no. It wasn’t exactly a dignified message, but then again, perhaps her growing desperation would be evident in that rambling mess and he’d take pity on her.

Cause she knew she needed help. Massive help.

James Barnes was dealing with a hell of a lot more than she was equipped to handle, that much was evident from her short trips within his mind. She remembered his emotions, the disorienting tumult of guilt and confusion, of his inability to recognise it when she tried to show him love and affection in order to calm him. He needed someone way more qualified than her. Hell, he _deserved_ better.

“Send the message, please, JARVIS. Thank you.”

“Of course, Miss Lewis.”

He was always so formal with her, he reminded her of Steve sometimes. He still called her Miss Lewis, as if they’d just met. Though, she reminded herself, he was from a different era. Perhaps he needed her permission to call her ‘Darcy’. It was a thought to ponder.

“Hey, JARVIS?”

“Yes, Miss?”

“You know you can call me Darcy if you want, right?”

There was a pause, only really noticeable because JARVIS was usually so prompt, and then he said, “Do you wish for me to call you Darcy?”

She shrugged, even though he probably couldn’t see it all that well. “It’s up to you. I don’t mind either way.”

“Duly noted, Miss Darcy.”

She smiled to herself. “Cheeky,” she muttered.

 ** _-_** **_✮_** **_-_**

Darcy was shocked to find the area in front of Sergeant Barnes’ room lacking a certain superhero. She approached the window beside his door and peered in, fully expecting to see Steve sitting next to the bed or something, but the room was conspicuously empty of anyone except Barnes who lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“You want some coffee?”

She let out an inhumanely high-pitched yelp and spun around. Steve stood there, a paper cup in each hand and a mildly shocked expression on his face.

“Sorry,” he said, his lips curling into a smile. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“How a man your size moves without a sound is honestly beyond me,” she said, her embarrassment making her tone sharp. “You need a bell.”

Steve just smiled wider and held out one of the cups for her. “I only put a little sugar in it.”

Darcy took it from him. “So you mean a regular amount instead of that diabetes inducing syrup you usually drink?” she asked teasingly. “You know, your pancreas probably hates you.”

He shrugged with one shoulder. “I think I’ll be fine.”

She had no idea what being a super soldier entailed, but if he could live to talk about getting shot, dropped out of a crashing Hellicarrier, and nearly drowned in a river then he could probably eat all the sugar he wanted and skip the whole diabetes thing.

Darcy took a sip of the hot coffee and hummed with pleasure when the flavour of coffee and not just sugar washed over her tongue.

“Good?”

“I’d give you a gold star,” Darcy sassed, “but rumour has it that you’ve already got one.”

He chuckled. “Mine isn’t gold.”

“Well, then we’ll just have to get you one, won’t we?”

He shook his head, smiling. “You’re not what I expected, Miss Lewis.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Do I want to know what you expected?”

Quite abruptly, he looked uncomfortable. Darcy watched as colour crept up his neck and into his face. Her other eyebrow went up, intrigued. “Women are…Well, I’m not used to…” He trailed off and rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand, looking mighty awkward. “I like you,” he blurted out, and then immediately looked horrified. “I mean, not in—I just—Aw, hell.”

Darcy clapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing at him. She had a good idea of what he was trying to say, but he was fumbling all over his words like a football player with butter on their hands.

“I’ve never had a dame for a friend,” he tried to explain, his face flaming red. “And, I just…Women are so different from what I’m used to and…”

“I think I know what you’re trying to say, Steve,” she said smiling. “But friends call each other by their first names, you know. So how about you call me Darcy and I’ll probably come up with a terrible nickname for you?”

He looked mightily relieved. His shoulders relaxed as he laughed with just a touch of embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit of an idiot.”

“Nah,” she reached out and gave him a gentle shove, making sure not to touch his bare skin. “I think of you as a friend, too.”

“Yeah?” he asked. “Even after I…Well, you know.”

Darcy shrugged. She wasn’t interested in rehashing that. It had quickly become clear to her that what had happened that day was an aberration and not in Steve’s usual nature. “Even after all that,” she agreed.

He relaxed even further, and a smile played about his lips. “Good,” he said. “That’s good.”

She glanced into the window to see Barnes lying there, still staring at the ceiling, as expected. She knew that she ought to go inside there and do what she came down to the medical floor to do, but she didn’t have the heart for it. Instead, she turned her attention more firmly towards Steve.

“You know,” she hesitated for a moment, and then decided to plough on with her thought, “you’d have more lady friends if you went out a bit more often.”

Steve grimaced suddenly and shook his head. “I’m not very good with dames and women are…” he shrugged, “they’re very…different.”

“You mean modern women?”

He nodded and looked down at his coffee. “I’m not used to…to any of it. Modern or… _old fashioned_ ,” he said with a tone.

“Well, I suppose purple hair and septum piercings are a bit much for a man like you,” she said lightly.

“That’s an understatement,” he said laughingly. “Nat is always trying to fix me up with someone.”

Darcy’s eyebrows went up again. “I didn’t realise you guys were at all close.”

“She’s a good friend,” Steve said.

“I thought you said you didn’t have any lady friends.”

“She’s not a—” He stopped mid-sentence as he realised what he was about to say. “I mean, she _is_ a dame but—” He broke off again and gave her a helpless look. “Anything I say is just going to make it worse, isn’t it?”

Darcy laughed. “I’m not sure if it’s a compliment to her or an insult that you seem to forget that she’s a woman.”

“I don’t _forget_ ,” he corrected. “She’s just…She’s _Natasha_.”

“She’s more than a friend or a woman,” Darcy surmised. “She’s a comrade.”

Steve turned to the window to look at Barnes. “She is,” he said quietly.

Darcy fell silent and watched him as he watched his friend, his comrade. She couldn’t imagine what it was like inside his head—or any of their heads for that matter. She knew that they all came with a backstory, with baggage. The Widow’s reaction to her simple teasing earlier was evidence of that. Clearly Darcy had said something that hit a nerve, and she had her suspicions that it was the word ‘unnatural’. It had to be lonely, she realised, for all of them, but especially for Steve. He was always apart from everyone around him in practically every way. With his pressed khakis and his button up shirts tucked into his belt he couldn’t blend in with contemporary men on the street. His uniform set him apart from other S.H.E.I.L.D operatives—or _former_ S.H.E.I.L.D operatives, she corrected herself—and it was only when he was with the Avengers that he didn’t stand out _quite_ so much. Mentally, well, that was a whole different ball game.

In a way, she wanted to tell him that he had to move on, adapt to the new world, but that was probably a lot easier said than done and, really, who was she to judge?

“I spent so much time looking for him,” Steve said suddenly. “Almost two years. Now That I’ve found him…I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“Well, what did you do before you knew he was alive?” Darcy asked.

“Trained,” he said. “Did missions for S.H.E.I.L.D.”

She shook her head ruefully. “You don’t necessarily have to get out and date, but you do need to get a life, Steve.”

He smiled slightly and dragged his free hand through his hair. “I know, but there are only so many books I can read before I don’t know what’s going on. It seems like there’s an endless amount of catching up to be done and…I just don’t have the heart for it.”

“What about meeting new people?” she suggested. “Not for dating, but just for friendship. The easiest way to learn about a new culture is to immerse yourself in it, and this,” she gestured with her hand at the world around them, “ _is_ a new culture to you.”

“It’s kind of hard to make friends when it always means lying right from the beginning.”

Darcy wrinkled her nose at that. “Point,” she conceded. “But what about the rest of the team, and people like Agent Hill?”

He looked thoughtful for a second. “I spend time with Sam.”

“Every time I see you, or any time I ask JARVIS where to find you, you’re up here, Steve,” she said, nodding her head in the direction of Barnes’ room. “When was the last time you had an actual conversation with Sam?” Steve opened his mouth to respond. “One that lasted longer than five minutes and covered more than the basics of ‘How you doing, Stevie?’” She put on her best deep, masculine voice to imitate both Sam and Steve and held her arms out as if she were loaded with muscles. “‘Not bad, brah. You?’” Darcy dropped her arms and gave him a look. “Because that doesn’t count as a conversation.”

Steve was eyeballing her like she’d just sprouted a couple more heads. “Why on Earth would I call Sam a brassiere?”

Darcy clapped a hand over her face and shook her head. “It’s a colloquialism and it means ‘brother’, not ‘brassiere,” she explained with a smile. Steve still looked immensely confused so she held out her hand. “Phone, por favor.”

“What are you going to do?” Steve asked warily, even as he reached into his pocket.

“Install an app that will help you look up terms you don’t understand, whether they’re slang or not,” she said, plucking his phone out of his fingers and letting her thumbs fly. “It’s a user based thing, so you’ll get multiple answers but usually the top one is the most correct.”

“How do you…?” Steve moved closer, peering over her shoulder and watching as she pulled up the app program on the phone and began searching for Urban Dictionary. She quickly found it and clicked ‘Install’. The StarkPhone, being made by a Stark, downloaded the application and opened it up in record time.

“There’s a word of the day feature,” Darcy said, using her index finger to point it out to him. “Be careful though, they’re not always PG-13, so don’t just whip it out while you’re on the bus. Well, not unless you want the tiny little old ladies to judge you.”

“Duly noted,” he said, taking the phone back as she handed it over. “So I just type in the word I’m looking for?”

Darcy nodded. “As long as you’re spelling it correctly, it should come up. If you don’t know how to spell it, open up Google and sound it out. Google knows pretty much everything; it’ll figure it out. If all else fails, you could always ask JARVIS.”

Steve looked up the ceiling. “Pretty sure there are some things I’d rather not ask JARVIS.”

Darcy patted his arm consolingly. “Yeah, well, at least you never asked your middle-school French teacher what _voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir_ means.”

She could tell by how his eyes widened slightly that he knew exactly what those words meant. “Why would you ask your French teacher _that_?”

“Look up the song ‘Lady Marmalade’ later,” Darcy advised. “Make sure you’re alone though. It’s, uh, _suggestive_.”

“Am I going to regret this?” Steve asked.

Darcy dipped her head from side to side, making a ‘maybe’ face. “Quite possibly. It might actually ruin you for the movie Moulin Rouge, so watch that first and then look up the song.” She swigged the rest of her coffee. “Remember, Google is both wondrous and terrifying and should be used with caution.”

Steve made a face. “I’m not very fond of computers,” he told her. “The last one I met tried to kill me.”

“You _met_ a—I’m sorry, _what_?” Darcy gaped at him, all thoughts of Mya, Christina, and the gals scandalizing poor Steve fled her mind.

“True story,” Steve said, giving her a lopsided grin.

“Ew.” She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t start talking like Stark. It’s wrong on so many levels. In fact, delete that Urban Dictionary app. Stark talks exactly like that.”

“Apologies, ma’am.” He gave her a nod of his head and tipped an imaginary cap, making Darcy roll her eyes at him.

“Smart ass,” she muttered. “Seriously, though. How does one _meet_ a computer, and how does said computer try to _kill_ you? Last I checked they were relatively inanimate, unless designed by Stark.”

Steve’s face lost some of its humour and Darcy immediately felt like kicking herself. She hadn’t thought about the fact that if a computer was trying to kill him, it probably wasn’t a happy story. She watched as his lips twisted into a sour expression and his gaze shifted to the window next to them. “How about I tell you another time?” He nodded his head towards Barnes. “We should probably go in.”

Darcy followed his gaze. As far as she could tell, Barnes hadn’t moved. He lay on his back, eyes staring vacantly up at the ceiling. Darcy felt the levity of the moment leave her as she contemplated going in there and touching the Sergeant again. There was an undeniable part of her that was starting to regret offering to help, and that made her feel guilty as hell.

“You’re right, we should.” She forced a smile on to her face for Steve and opened the door to the room before he could realise that it was fake.

She dropped her empty coffee cup in the bin next to the door before approaching the bed. Steve grabbed a chair and dragged it over for her.

“Thanks,” she said, pulling it closer to the bed before sitting down.

“Hello, James.”

As expected, there was no response. Darcy cast about for something else to say. Making small talk with strangers was awkward enough when all parties were capable of actually talking. Deciding to just bite the bullet, she cast one last look at Steve’s anxious face, before she reached out and slipped her hand under Barnes’.

She was ready for him, ready for the pounce that she’d experienced before, but her caution turned to shock when she realised that, too, was ready for _her_.

He’d been waiting.

Unlike the last time, he reached out gently, his consciousness brushing against hers instead of trying to swallow and consume it. She could feel his confusion, and his lingering fear, but also a sense of curiosity. It made her heart skip a beat with excitement.

_‘Becca?_

Darcy barely had the time to register the sound of his mental voice, a deep, smooth masculine sound, before an image flickered across her consciousness. It was dim, and the background almost non-existent, but the face of a young woman stood out so clear, so colourful, that Darcy knew that this face was important. Before it could disappear back into his mind, Darcy reached out for the memory and pulled it forward, forcing them both to view it.

_“Mama’s gonna whoop you.”_

_“Only if you tattle on me.”_

_She laughs, throwing her head back with exuberance. People glance at her, drawn in by her brightness, and her beauty. Her hair is loose and flowing, catching the sun and reflecting reds and golds that don’t usually show in the normally deep brown. It’s not very fashionable for a woman to leave her hair untouched or styled, but ‘Becca never really cared about acting like a lady should._

_He links his arms with hers and he can feel the warmth of her body through the cheap coats they’re wearing._

_“I won’t tattle on you, James, but you know Mama. She goin’ to find out no matter what you do.”_

_He grins at her, confident in his ability to smooth-talk his way out of trouble with his mother._

_“You let me worry about that, doll._ ”

The memory ended as abruptly as it began, and Darcy _knew_ that there had to be more, but when she reached, she only found darkness and his growing confusion.

 _James_?

She reached out for that part of his consciousness that was _him_ and not his memories, or the lack thereof. She was relieved when he reached back.

 _‘Becca_?

The woman’s face flashed through their minds again. Blue eyes, long dark hair, and a sweet, crooked smile.

Darcy could see how, on a most basic level, he might confuse her with whoever ‘Becca was. They both had long dark hair, blue eyes, and imperfect teeth, but what the memory really told her was that Sergeant Barnes was at least a little bit aware of his surroundings. He’d seen her and made the connection to this woman in his fragmented memory.

 _Who is ‘Becca_ , _James_?

The face flashed through their minds again, but it was a different memory. This one was dimmer than the other, more deeply seated in shadows, as if he couldn’t recall the details. ‘Becca’s eyes were the focus of his thoughts, though, how tears welled up along her eyelids, and how her gaze darted distractedly from side to side. There was no emotion attached to either of the memories, only a sense of general confusion. Darcy knew then that he had no idea who ‘Becca was either.

 _‘Becca_?

_I’m not ‘Becca, James. My name is Darcy._

His reaction was instantaneous, and not at all what she expected. He withdrew so quickly that Darcy scrambled to hold on to him, to follow him as he retreated within his own consciousness. The fear reappeared, surging up within both of them, and with it came the anger that seeped from him to her. It crouched deep in her belly, cloying and thick.

_James, please calm do—_

He pulled away again, harder this time, but Darcy was determined. She followed him deeper into his own consciousness, deeper into the darkness that was his mind. She felt like Alice traipsing down the rabbit hole, and just like Alice, she got a surprise when she reached the bottom.

Another memory welled up, this one sharp and clear, and saturated with emotion.

_He knows the room, though he can’t remember where or when he’s been there, only that he has. His skin crawls with awareness, his ears picking up the minute sounds of cloth brushing against cloth, of a set of lungs quietly breathing at rest, of a man adjusting his grip on his gun._

_He knows, without a doubt, that there are guns trained on him. There always are._

_When the man enters the room, he is not surprised. He was expecting him—or he ought to have been. He knows this man’s face, just as well as he knows the room. The sight of him brings a sense of anticipation, though he doesn’t know why._

_“It is time. You are needed.”_

_He doesn’t nod, doesn’t say a word, but he follows the man with his eyes as he waits for instruction. The man will tell him exactly what needs to be done, and he will do it. Because that is what he does._

_He tosses a folder down on the table nearby. It is thick with papers and photographs, some of which spill out, showing the edges of surveillance shots. He is familiar with this, too._

_“This is your target,” the man says, gesturing at the folder. “It is to look like an accident.”_

_At that, he does nod, acknowledging the order. He reaches for the folder, flipping it open to see a pretty, smiling woman looking back at him. He will have to read the file in detail to determine how best to kill her but from the quick skim that he does of the first page it seems to be an easy mission. The woman is a rich man’s housewife, and those women do not often pose much of a challenge. Their luxurious lives presented many variables with which to kill them and his mind begins to flick through them. A boating accident, a fall down the stairs, a previously unknown drug addiction. He glances over the name and feels a spark of recognition._

_“Stark?”_

_The man, who had been about to leave, pauses. He turns back, his expression no longer relaxed._

_“Yes. Stark,” the man says, his words sharp._

_He frowns slightly, trying to remember where he knows that name from._

_“You’ve heard of them before. They are an enemy of Hydra,” the man informs him, as if he can read minds. He looks up at him, reassured by this information. Of course he would know the name if they are an enemy of Hydra. “Which makes your mission all the more important,” the man continues, walking back over to place a hand on his bare shoulder. Warmth unfurls in his stomach, and he knows that he will do everything in his power to make sure that the mission is a success. She will—_

_— “done well, my son,” the man is saying, but he has not been paying attention. The word ‘son’ catches at his attention though, and his head tilts to the side unconsciously as he contemplates it. He knows what it means, technically, but he does not know if he is the man’s son. Before he can think on it further, the hand on his shoulder squeezes gently and he dismisses the thoughts. It does not matter. He is the asset, and he will make the man proud of him._

_He watches as the man turns away and nods at a woman in the room, one wearing a long white coat. This, too, he recognises, and it sets his body on edge as she approaches._

_“Wipe him, and reset. Call me when it’s done.”_

_The woman approaches with a piece of black rubber in her hand, and instantly he knows that something is wrong. He jerks back from it instinctively, his eyes darting to the man as the piece of rubber is pushed into his mouth, between his teeth. The warmth disappears, replaced by terror that bleeds through his entire body. He makes a move to get up, but then there are hands on him. He struggles, and the man watches for a moment, his lips tight and his eyes hard, before turning around to leave the room. He starts to thrash, crying out, but the man never turns back. He watches the man’s back retreat, his gut churning, as the machines around him begin to hum. The hands are replaced with metal, but before he can test his strength against it, pain screams through his body, making his teeth clench around the rubber over his tongue. He knows, now, why they put it there, and why—_

Pain lanced through Darcy’s head and she fell backwards, grabbing her skull with a scream. The pain was not hers, not really, but for a moment the memory of it was enough to completely debilitate her. It ricocheted through her body like lightning, and before she could even think twice about it, she was vomiting all over herself and the edge of the bed beside her.

“Darcy! God, Darcy! JARVIS, get medical in here, now!”

She pressed her face against the soft bed, trying to drown out the sound of that frantic voice. Her body heaved once more, and she gagged at the burn of bile being forced out. Hands pulled her backwards, pulling her into a warm embrace. The world rapidly began blurring around the edges, and she could feel the darkness rising up for her, but the one thing that remained crystal clear was the pair of icy blue eyes that were watching her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said that bit about freedom mid-November and called BS on it? I'm fuckin' psychic. 
> 
> In other news, I pretty much throw X-Men canon out the window here. Mostly because I know very little of it. Whatever. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy. See you you in a month.

Darcy woke slowly to the sound of rhythmic beeping, a deep ache in her head, and a thick tongue. Blearily, she pulled open first one eyelid, then the other and quickly realised that she was, once again, a guest of Stark Medical.

“Good morning, Miss Darcy,” said JARVIS, his voice softer than usual. “How are you feeling?”

“Rough,” she grunted, slowly heaving herself upright. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this JARVIS.”

“That would be preferable,” he agreed mildly. “Can I assist you with anything?”

Darcy paused to think about it for a second. Her mouth tasted like she’d licked the inside of a garbage bin. “Some water, please? And maybe an aspirin the size of a small bus, if you’ve got any.”

“Of course, Miss Darcy. I will send for it.”

She took a quick inventory of herself as she waited for JARVIS to round up a lackey. Her body was still tired, though the clock on the wall and the light shining through the window told her that she had at least slept through dinner and the entire night. The throbbing in her head intensified when she moved too quickly, so she quickly decided that the best strategy would be to lie back down. Slowly. She had just made herself comfortable again when the door opened.

“Steve. Hey.”

He smiled at her, looking equal parts strained and yet still relieved. “Hey, Darcy. How’re you feeling?” he asked, crossing the room in a few big strides.

“I’ve got a headache the size of Texas, but other than that I’m okay,” she told him. “What happened to—”

Darcy stopped midsentence as a woman she didn’t recognise walked in holding a mug and a plastic pill cup. She was tall and thin, much like Pepper Pots, but that was where the similarities ended. This woman’s hair was a much brighter, more vibrant red, and her eyes were brown instead of blue. Where Pepper always looked like she belonged on the cover of the Economist, this woman was dressed much like the Widow did on her casual days—a pair of slim fitting jeans, comfortable boots, a plain tee, and a leather jacket.

“Hello, Darcy. My name is Jean. I heard you could use a few of these.” She gave the pills a little shake as she approached.

“Uh…” Darcy glanced at Steve, looking for direction. The other woman was clearly not a nurse, nor any Stark Industries employee Darcy’d ever seen—not that she knew all of them—but Steve seemed relaxed enough around her.

“Jean Grey is a member of the X-Men,” he told her.

Darcy’s gaze snapped back to the woman, taking her in with new eyes. She had heard of Jean Grey, almost every mutant had, especially mutants like Darcy. Jean Grey was both feared and revered, depending on whom you talked to. Everyone knew she was an Omega mutant, the strongest of their kind, and in possession of both telepathic as well as telekinetic powers. The woman could change the orbit of the goddamn _moon_ if she so pleased, but as Darcy stared at her she couldn’t help being struck by how utterly _normal_ the other woman looked.

Suddenly, Jean grinned at her. “Do I?” She looked down at herself. “Logan always says this jacket makes me look like I’m one step away from joining a biker gang.”

 

Steve chuckled as Darcy blinked in shock, gaping at Jean for a moment, before her brain processed what had just happened. Clearly, her thoughts were not to be her own. She didn’t quite know how to feel about that. Part of her wanted to feel violated, but it was hard when she’d done the same thing so many times through unexpected handshakes, or accidental brushes of skin. “So _that’s_ what that’s like.”

Jean’s grin widened. “Sorry,” she said, slightly apologetic. “I have a bad habit of doing that to new people. Xavier says I have trust issues. Logan says I just have broad spectrum issues.”

At the end of her bed, Steve snorted. “He’s one to talk.”

“Right?” Jean flashed her smile at Steve, and suddenly Darcy felt like the odd man out.

“Who’s Logan?” she asked.

“Wolverine.” They answered simultaneously, and Steve grinned. Darcy looked between the two of them, and the third-wheel sensation intensified. Darcy’d had no idea that Steve was at all familiar with the X-Men, not that she’d made any effort into finding out those kinds of details. They were either really good friends, or the Captain and Jean Grey were knockin’ boots, Darcy decided.

“Definitely the first one,” Jean said apropos to, seemingly, nothing. She put the mug and the pills down on the bedside table closest to her and then pointed at the obligatory bedside chair. “Mind if I sit?”

“I’m not in much of a position to stop you.”

“True enough.” Jean shrugged and sat down, leaning forward so her elbows rested on her knees. “Professor Xavier sent me in his stead, along with his apologises for being unable to help personally.”

Darcy’s heart contracted painfully, both in relief and shock. She’d had faith that JARVIS would send her weird, rambling plea, but she’d had no idea that help would come, let alone so _quickly_. She glanced at Steve again, seeking affirmation. His short nod told her everything she needed to know.

“Oh, sweet fucking Christ, thank you,” Darcy blurted out unthinkingly.

Steve’s eyebrows shot up, but Jean Grey let out an unholy sounding cackle. “I _knew_ I should have dragged Logan up here with me,” she said, slapping her knee like an old man.

“I’m suddenly glad you didn’t,” Steve said under his breath, rubbing one hand over his face.

“Sorry,” Darcy muttered, embarrassed.

“Please, don’t be,” Jean said. “You should take those pills though,” she added. “Your head still hurts.”

Darcy’s eyebrows went up, and Jean shrugged. “Doesn’t take a psychic to see the way you wince at the light.”

She did as she was told, downing most of the water to rid her mouth of the furry feeling that came with vomiting and then passing out.

“Any chance of me getting out of here so I can brush my teeth?” Darcy asked.

“You’re free to go whenever you’re ready,” Steve told her. “The doctor said you’re physically fine.”

“I’m exhausted,” Darcy admitted, rubbing at her eyes. The lethargy hadn’t gone away, but simply taken a backseat for a moment. The second she thought about it, however, it seemed to swamp her again.

“You’re unused to exercising your gift, so it takes a toll on you every time you use it for such lengths of time, and under such stress,” Jean explained. “It’s like a muscle. It takes time to build up stamina.”

“Oh,” Darcy said dumbly. It sounded perfectly legitimate, but she’d never thought of it that way.

Jean smiled slightly and held out her hand. “Do you mind if I…?”

Darcy hesitated for a second; it went against her instincts to offer her bare hand, especially to strangers. On top of that, she knew that Jean Grey would be searching her mind. Then again, the other mutant didn’t need touch to achieve that, so did it really matter?

She placed her hand in the other woman’s, her brain registering the soft warmth of another’s skin only seconds before she realised that there was no accompanying rush of thoughts and emotions. Darcy looked up at Jean’s face, shocked.

“How…?”

Jean shrugged slightly. “There are very few beings that can force their own consciousness upon mine,” she told her, very matter of fact.

For the first time in as long as she could remember, Darcy held the hand of another person and her mind was her own. Not even the throbbing in her head could stem her happiness, and a grin split over her face.

“This is so cool.”

Jean squeezed her fingers. “Would you like to learn how to do this?” she asked, gesturing with their joined hands.

“You think I could?” Darcy asked, hope plain as day in her voice. She didn’t even bother to contain it.

Jean tilted her head to the side slightly, her eyes focused on the empty space between them. She frowned slightly and reached out with her other hand, brushing her fingers over Darcy’s temple ever so gently.

“Who bound you?” she asked sharply, her brown eyes refocusing on Darcy.

“What?”

Jean pressed her fingers against the skin of Darcy’s head and still she felt nothing but the physical. “You’ve been bound,” Jean told her. “It’s old, and crude, and it’s coming apart but still there.”

Darcy stared at her blankly for a second before shifting her gaze to Steve, who looked just as perplexed as Darcy felt. His eyes were swivelling between Darcy and Jean’s hand upon her face, a little furrow between his eyebrows. Darcy’s hope began to fizzle as a little seed of dread began to grow in her gut.

“Another mutant did this. Purposely,” Jean continued, arching an eyebrow at Darcy. “You don’t remember?”

“I’ve never met another mutant,” Darcy told her. “Not that I know of. Well, other than you,” she amended.

Jean’s head tilted slightly to the side again, her eyes losing focus again even as she continued to speak. “No. That’s not right…” She trailed off, and Darcy watched as her warm brown eyes darkened to pitch. She was about to open her mouth to ask just what the hell was going on when suddenly her vision blurred.

The room dimmed, and then she was standing in an old, musty looking parlour, looking at an end table that seemed unreasonably high.

_“Are you sure you want to do this?”_

_Warm, papery hands touch the sides of her face, leaving gentle traces of emotion. Concern, sadness, affection. It doesn’t rush at her the way they usually do, instead it seems to slip over her softly, like the fuzzy blanket on her bed that her mama bought for her last Christmas. Darcy smiles up at the older lady, and the old lady smiles back, making all the lines in her face jump and move. It makes Darcy want to giggle, and to touch, but she’s not supposed to touch anyone but her mama and so she keeps her hands to herself even though the lady is touching her face._

_“I need to protect her, even if it’s from herself.”_

_She looks up at her mother, concerned at the tone of her voice. Her mother’s face is upset, her lips thin and hard, the grooves next to her mouth deep the way they get when Darcy does something wrong. Without thinking, she reaches out to touch her mother’s hand, a silent question that she passed through her fingertips and into her mother’s._

_Her mama looks down at her and smiles slightly. “Don’t worry baby, I’m not mad at you.”_

_“She’s talented. This will stunt her.”_

_“She’s not talented, she’s cursed.”_

_The other lady sighs and gives her mama a look that Darcy can’t understand, though it doesn’t seem nice. Slowly, she shuffles over to a sofa that’s covered in plastic and sits down heavily. With one hand, she pats the seat beside her._

_“Come here,_ tatlım _.”_

_Darcy looks up at her mother for permission before going for the sofa. She has to hoist herself up, and feels a pair of hands grab her by the arms to help her over the slippery plastic. When she’s upright, she looks between her mama and the old lady._

_“What’s tat im…?”_

_The lady smiles slightly. “It means ‘sweetheart’.”_

_Darcy frowns at that. “I’m not a baby.”_

_“Of course not,” the lady agrees. “Come closer.” She pats her lap._

_Darcy looks to her mother again, who nods. She isn’t used to being able to touch people, and this is a treat. She practically scrambles over the lady’s lap, sitting down on her brightly coloured skirt. Deciding to throw caution to the wind, Darcy reaches out and touches the lady’s face the way she had wanted to do earlier. Her skin is warm and papery, just like her hands._

_“One day you will look like me,” the woman says. “Now, close your eyes.”_

_She does as she’s told, and feels those warm hands on her face once more. Those gentle, soft emotions slip over her again and Darcy smiles. She likes this lady, even if her house smells a bit funny and the couch is slippery. She’s just deciding that she’ll ask her mama if they can visit the lady again when she feels the pressure in her head._

_Her eyes open, and she frowns at the lady in front of her. The older woman’s eyes are closed, but somehow Darcy knows that that feeling is because of her. She tries to pull back, but the lady’s hands tighten on her head, the fingers almost closing around all of her face. The pressure builds and starts to hurt._

_“No,” Darcy whines._

_“I’m sorry,” the lady whispers, but she doesn’t let go of Darcy’s head. Her face creases, the lines getting deeper, and she holds tighter._

_The pain increases, stabbing through her head, and Darcy starts to cry. Hot tears fall down her cheeks and she tries to turn to see her mother. “Mama,” she cries. “Mama, make her stop. Mama.”_

_She jerks back sharply, trying to pull away from the lady even though she knows it will mean falling off the couch backwards, and that will hurt too, but maybe it will hurt less than what the lady is doing to her head. Suddenly, there are hands on her shoulders, holding her in place, and Darcy knows that it’s her mother._

_“Mama!” she shrieks._

_Behind her, she hears the sound of someone crying, but the pain spikes through her head and it hurts so bad—_

 

Darcy sucked in a deep, shaky breath as the old lady’s face disappeared to be replaced by Jean Grey’s concerned one.

“Wh—what was that?” Darcy asked, her voice unsteady. She reached up to touch her face, the memory of those large, warm hands on her skin still lingering. She was surprised to find that her cheeks were wet with tears that she didn’t know she’d shed. Hastily, she wiped them away with the back of her hands.

“That was a memory,” Jean said softly. “You were made to forget, as part of the binding.”

“What are you talking about?” Darcy snapped. “What the fuck is a binding?”

Jean’s lips thinned. “Your mother had another mutant bind your gifts, or part of them, in an attempt to protect you from them. It’s not unheard of to do with children who have gifts that can cause harm to others. It was done to me.”

Darcy shook her head, ignoring the way her brain protested the movement, and held up a hand to stem the flow of Jean’s words. “Wait, wait, wait. First off, my mother would never…” The words felt false in her mouth, even as she spoke them. Darcy knew that her mother had always loved her, deeply and desperately, but she also knew that her mother’s greatest disappointment and fear was Darcy’s mutant abilities.

She looked up to see Jean Grey’s face drawn in concern, and maybe a bit of pity. Darcy had the sudden and irrational desire to tell the woman to fuck right off. She didn’t want to see the pity, and she didn’t want to confront the idea that her mother had done this, had hurt her, in front of a complete stranger because Darcy wasn’t sure she wouldn’t start bawling.

“What, exactly, did this binding do to Darcy?” Steve asked, breaking the lull of silence. Darcy looked up at him, torn between relief and resentment. She wanted to know. And yet she really, really didn’t.

“The woman who did it was not very skilled, so it has been breaking down steadily for a number of years,” Jean said. She turned back to Darcy, her eyes brown once more. “It was the telekinesis that she tried to contain. Your mother most likely saw it as a danger to others.”

“That’s…That’s not…” ‘Not possible’ is what she wanted to say, but Darcy knew better than that. She lived in a world where things that shouldn’t be possible definitely were, and not just because she’d been born with a few mutated genes. She glanced at Steve, a man born almost a hundred years before, whose current existence was owed entirely to a brilliant scientist and engineering genius. Darcy knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that her mother would have seized any opportunity to make her daughter ‘normal’ with both hands and held on for dear life.

“If you wish to learn,” Jean interjected into her thoughts, her voice quiet, “the binding must be lifted.”

“Can you even do that?” Steve asked. “Or does it have to be the same person?”

Jean cast him a look like he was a complete idiot. “It’s not hocus pocus, Steve.”

“Well, how am I supposed to know?” he countered, shrugging his massive shoulders.

Jean rolled her eyes slightly but nodded, turning her attention back to Darcy. “I can remove it for you, if you wish, but it’s not going to last forever anyway. The more you use your powers, especially telekinesis, the more it’s going to unravel.”

“Will it hurt?” Darcy asked quietly, thinking back to the recently rediscovered memory. Her mother had stood behind her and held her still as that old woman had made her head feel like it was being split in two, and Darcy had no idea how to feel about that.

“Not like that.” Jean shook her head. “Maybe a headache. You’re not used to having someone tramping around up there.”

“Does it do that with everyone?” Darcy asked suddenly, thinking of James.

“I don’t know if he gets them,” Jean said. “I’ve never met him.”

“You didn’t?”

Jean glanced at Steve, making Darcy look his way. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Whatever you did, he woke up,” he told her, “but he’s not…Well, he attacked a doctor and almost killed him so he’s being kept in isolation.”

Darcy’s eyes widened. Theoretically, she knew that he was capable of such things but he’d been comatose for so long that part of her expected him to stay that way.

“Is the doctor all right?”

“Yeah, mostly bruises and a few stitches.” Steve shrugged again, going for nonchalant but failing miserably. Darcy took a closer look at him, seeing once more the strain in the lines around his eyes, and the way his entire body seemed just a little bit slumped as he stood beside her bed, hands in his pockets.

“And what about Ja—Barnes?”

If Steve noticed the slip, he didn’t acknowledge it. “He’s…Well, he’s paranoid I think. We left him crouched in a corner. Not that I can blame him.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck again before stuffing it back in his pocket. “I remember when I first woke up I didn’t know who to trust.” His lips twisted in a grimace. “It didn’t help that they tried to trick me into thinking it was still 1945.”

“Trick you?” Darcy echoed. “ _How_?”

“A room in some S.H.E.I.L.D basement designed to look a New York hospital. They were playing a radio broadcast of a baseball game that I’d attended as a kid,” Steve said. “Kind of tipped me off.”

“Someone got fired that day,” Jean murmured. Steve smiled slightly.

“Probably.”

“But…Why the trick? Why not just honesty?”

“S.H.E.I.L.D is a spy organization,” Jean said. “If I couldn’t read Fury’s mind I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.” She grinned suddenly. “Bad metaphor. I could throw him pretty far.”

“You read _Fury’s_ mind?” Steve echoed, his blue eyes wide.

Jean waggled her eyebrows at him. “Why do you think he avoids me like the plague?”

“Because his secrets have secrets,” Steve said on a sigh.

“Well, that and he says finishing his sentences isn’t cute anymore.” Jean looked entirely unrepentant.

Despite herself, Darcy smiled. She could understand why someone like Fury would avoid Jean Grey, or the Professor. She’d never met the man, but she’d heard things. And if he was the head of a spy organization, now defunct or not, he probably had quite a few things to hide.

“You’re almost as bad as Tony,”

“Speaking of Stark, I should probably pay him a visit,” Jean said, standing up. “I sort of dropped by unannounced.” Looking to Darcy she added, “Think about what I said. The offer stands.”

“All right,” Darcy agreed quietly.

“Good.” To Steve she said, “I’ll talk to you later?”

He nodded, and together they watched Jean Grey leave the room. Silence descended and Darcy entertained the idea of getting up. Exhaustion clung to her bones, weighing her down, and the idea of getting up to go back to her apartment seemed like an unreasonable venture considering the perfectly good bed she had at her disposal.

“How’re you feeling?” Steve asked.

“Head’s better,” she told him. “Pills kicked in, so that’s nice.”

“Are you going to stay here?”

“No,” Darcy sighed. “I should probably go find Jane. I’m surprised she isn’t banging down the door already.”

“Oh, she was already here,” Steve said, and the tone of his voice told Darcy all that she needed to know.

She groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “How pissed is she?”

“For a woman her size she has a lot of…” he paused, clearly weighing his words. Darcy peered at him through her fingers, waiting. “Presence,” he finally said.

Darcy snorted. “You should have seen her when S.H.E.I.L.D took all our stuff. I seriously thought she was going to clock Coulson.”

She slid out of the bed and bent at the waist to hunt for her shoes. She found them, tucked neatly under the bed and pulled them out.

“And then she ran over Thor,” Darcy added, tugging one shoe on. Someone had been nice enough to actually loosen the laces. She usually just struggled with stuffing her foot into her Chucks rather than unlacing them, even though logic said she’d get them on faster if she made the extra effort. Some habits were nonsensical, but they died hard. “Twice.”

“You tasered him,” Steve pointed out, “I’m not sure where that falls on the scale of using physical violence when compared to a car but it has to count for something.”

“If a man dropped out of the sky and started referring to himself as Thor Odinson, you’d tase him, too,” Darcy countered, shooting him a look as she struggled with her other shoe.

“I got into a tin can as a 100 pound shrimp and came out like this.” Steve gestured to his torso. “And my best friend is a metal armed assassin, so I think I could handle a man falling from the sky.”

Darcy paused to stare at him for a second, shocked to hell that he’d just made a joke about James, but he had a look to his face that said if he didn’t laugh, he’d cry, so she smiled.  
“Touché.”

“You going back to your apartment?”

Darcy rubbed a hand over her face. “I want to, but I’ve been neglecting Jane lately, and technically she is my boss.”

“Technically,” Steve agreed. “C’mon, I’ll walk you.”

Darcy followed him out of the room and into the hall. She didn’t recognise the area she was in, and she’d become pretty familiar with Stark Medical as of late, either through visiting James, or from ending up in a bed herself. She frowned, looking around.

“Where are we? This isn’t the medical floor. Is it?”

Steve’s lips thinned and he got that look on his face, the one that she was coming to realise meant whatever it was he was about to say really bothered him. “Everyone’s been moved out of the usual floor because of Bucky.”

“They’re isolating him?”

“Pretty much.”

“Is he that bad?”

Steve sighed and turned a corner, guiding her way out. They approached a metal door that looked like it ought to lead to a storage room, but when Steve opened it Darcy recognised the dark tones of a Stark Industries hallway.

“He won’t let anyone near him, especially not me, or the doctors. We were hoping that Jean Grey would go see him, but she said she wanted to see you first.”

“Me?” Darcy echoed. “Why me?”

Steve shrugged and turned for the elevators. “She wouldn’t explain. Just said that Bucky would keep and that she needed to see you first.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I try not to overthink things when it comes to her, or to the Professor,” Steve admitted. “It just gives me a headache.”

Darcy smiled slightly. “You seem to know her pretty well, though?”

“I know Logan better,” Steve told her as they stopped in front of the elevators. Most floors didn’t have a call button as JARVIS always knew when someone needed an elevator so they didn’t have anything to press. “I know some of the others through him, but most of the mutants I knew are dead now. Logan is the only one left.”

“I thought Wolverine was, like, middle aged or something?” Darcy said slowly, frowning at Steve.

His lips twisted in a mockery of a smile. “That’s part of Logan’s power. He doesn’t age.”

Darcy’s eyes widened. “You mean…ever?”

Steve dipped his head to the side slightly, an approximation of a shrug. “Not yet, at least.”

That gave Darcy pause. She couldn’t imagine, didn’t _want_ to imagine, what essentially being immortal would be like. To watch everyone you’d ever known or loved die while you remain the same? She looked up at Steve, at his young face.

“You two have quite a bit in common then, huh?”

Steve made an odd huffing sound, half-laugh, half-agreement. “You could say that.”

The way he said it set alarm bells off in Darcy’s head. There was the subtle tone of helplessness in it, which she didn’t really expect. She knew about Peggy Carter, everyone did, but she also knew that Steve was starting to at least _think_ about moving on. Sort of. A thought suddenly occurred to her.

“Do you age, Steve?” she asked in a whisper.

He looked at her, and his expression was so _bleak_ it made tears well up in her eyes. “Not really sure, to be honest. If I do, it’s very slowly. I mean…the ice kind of messed things up but…Banner was running tests for me before he was called away to Africa.”

It made sense. A sick, horrifying sense, but sense nonetheless. Steve was a super soldier because he could heal rapidly. Human aging was nothing more than cells losing their ability to heal themselves as time went on, and so they wore out until the organism as a whole died. It was the reason why people turned grey as they aged, or their skin wrinkled…or why their hearts gave out.

But Steve’s cells didn’t do that. They were designed _not_ to.

Darcy reached out for him, wanting to grab hold of his hand and show him just how utterly heartbroken that made her feel, but she didn’t have that kind of permission from him, and her head probably couldn’t take another rush of someone else’s emotions so soon after her overload. Or whatever it was. Instead, she grabbed the sleeve of his shirt and held on tight, feeling the warmth of his skin and the firmness of his muscles underneath. There was nothing she could say to that, nothing that could make it better, and even if there was she wouldn’t know how. He seemed to understand though, because he smiled sadly at her, and patted her arm where her sleeve also covered her skin.

“Yeah, I know,” he said quietly. He swallowed heavily and then looked away, focusing his eyes upward at the ceiling. “JARVIS, what’s taking the elevator so long.”

“Apologies, Captain. I did not wish to interrupt yours and Miss Darcy’s conversation,” came the AI’s voice. With a soft ding, the doors in front of them slid open smoothly. “Where may I take you?”

Darcy shot a look at Steve, he looked mildly disgruntled, but not upset. He gestured for her to enter ahead of him, the consummate gentleman.

“Jane’s lab, please, JARVIS,” she told the AI.

“Of course, Miss Darcy. Do you require anything? More bus sized pills, perhaps?”

Darcy smiled as the doors closed after Steve. “No, but if I do, I know who to go to.”

“Most excellent, Miss Darcy.”

Silence descended in the elevator for only a moment before Steve turned to her and asked,

“Are you going to remove the binding thing?”

Darcy made a face. She was kind of hoping he wouldn’t bring it up, because she really didn’t know what to do about that, let alone how to feel about it.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Jean said that it’s coming apart on its own. Maybe I should just leave it.”

“But you wouldn’t be able to learn anything about your gifts if you did that,” Steve pointed out.

“It’s not a _gift_ ,” Darcy snapped, turning to face him in the elevator. “It’s a nuisance at best, and a curse at worst.”

Steve frowned at her slightly. “It’s part of who you are, Darcy.”

“Well it’s not a part I want.” She crossed her arms over chest, feeling the prickle of tears behind her eyes. She looked up, blinking rapidly, and reminding herself that crying wouldn’t fix anything. That didn’t stop the lump forming in the back of her throat, or the burn in her eyes, though. “I didn’t ask for this, Steve,” she told him, her voice wavering. “I didn’t sign up for it like you did. All I’ve ever wanted is to be normal.”

“I’m not sure _normal_ really exists, Darcy,” Steve said gently. He took a step closer, pretty much crossing the elevator to stand next to her, and placed a big hand on her shoulder. She could feel the heat of him radiating through her shirt. “Even if things look normal from the outside, they usually aren’t. And look at people like Pepper, and Bucky, and even Bruce. They were normal once, and then life happened to them.”

“That shit happened to them because they were in a place where they were in danger of something happening to them,” Darcy said. “I’m not saying it’s their fault, but it’s not the same either. They were normal once.” She pulled away from his hand pointedly. “I have no idea what that’s like.”

“And you want to.”

“Of _course_ I do,” she glared at him the sheer stupidity of his statement.

He glared right back at her. “Then let Jean Grey help you. She said she could teach you, but she has to remove the binding first. You want to be normal, or the closest you can get? Then do this.”

Darcy looked away from him and hugged her arms a little tighter around her torso. “I wonder if letting her take it away means I’ll get any new memories that my mother had supressed,” she said quietly.

She startled a bit when she felt Steve’s hand close around her upper arm and gently pull her towards him. Darcy didn’t even put up a resistance, but went willingly and tucked herself into his broad chest, her hands trapped between the two of them. His arms wrapped around her and suddenly she was enveloped in warmth and the clean scent of a man. The tears she’d been trying to hold back sprang up with a vengeance and Darcy closed her eyes against them.

“I think I’m angry at her,” she whispered into his shirt. “I’m not sure.”

“Your mother?” His voice rumbled through his chest, and she felt it more than she heard it.

“Yeah.”

His arms tightened. “What happened to her?”

“Liver cancer,” Darcy told him quietly. Hot tears slipped out from underneath her closed eyes, half soaking into his shirt. “It’s why I know so much about being a liver donor. I wanted to give her part of mine, but they said it wouldn’t have helped even if I had been a genetic match. By the time they found it, it had spread to other organs.” She laughed wetly in a short burst of sound. “We were both mutants, she and I. Only her mutations killed her, and mine didn’t.”

Steve’s hand was warm on her back, slowly sweeping up and down her spine. It had been a long, long time since she’d been held in such a way, the kind of way that made her feel safe.

“I just want to know why,” she said suddenly, her voice cracking at the end. “Why would she stand there while I screamed for her help and not _do_ anything? I want to know why!” She grabbed two fistfuls of Steve’s shirt, clenching it tightly in her hands.

“I think she probably wanted to protect you,” he said quietly. “I imagine it’s a lot easier to teach your child not to touch people’s skin than it is to teach your child to control her ability to move things when you don’t understand it yourself.”

“Well, then it was all for nothing,” Darcy told him bitterly. “They still found out about me, they still came after us like a goddamn lynch mob, they still ran us out of town like a couple of…of…pedos or something.”

Steve pulled back slightly to look down at her, allowing Darcy to see the wet spot with the smudge of mascara on his grey shirt. “Shit, sorry,” she muttered, wiping ineffectually at the spot.

“Forget the shirt, Darcy,” Steve said dismissively. “What are you talking about? Lynch mob?”

Darcy shrugged and wiped under her eyes with her sleeves. “It’s what happens when you live in a small town full of bigots and they find out that someone among them is a freak.”

Steve frowned. “You’re not a freak, Darcy.”

“Actually, I am. That’s kind of the definition of a mutant. Abnormal. Aberration. Other words that don’t start with A,” she said dully, remembering how much her mama had hated the word ‘freak’, especially when Darcy said it.

“You’re just different, Darcy. That’s not a bad thing.”

She shrugged with one shoulder. “It could be worse. Rumour has it there’s a girl at Xavier’s school who kills people by touching them. At least I’m not that girl.”

Steve’s eyebrows went up slightly. “That wasn’t what I meant, but yes, I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” she said briskly, pulling away. She wiped at her face again and looked up at the digital number display above the door. “JARVIS, why aren’t we moving?”

“We are moving, Miss Darcy. Merely at a very slow speed,” came the prompt reply. Darcy glanced at Steve, who smiled slightly, though he still watched her a lingering look of concern.

“Don’t be a smart ass, it doesn’t become you,” she told the AI as she felt the elevator pick up speed. “You can stop giving us privacy now. I’ve finished blubbering all over Steve’s shirt.” She glanced at the wet spot on his chest, right between his pecs, and grimaced. “Sorry about the shirt, by the way,” she said to him.

“I’ve got more shirts,” he told her, “but only a few friends.”

Darcy felt her throat close up again. “You’re going to make me cry again. Friends don’t make friends cry, Captain.”

That got a short laugh out of him. “Then I’ll do my best not to make you cry.”

“You do that,” she said, sniffing slightly as the elevator came to a gentle stop and the doors slid open. “Would you look at that? We made it. Thanks JARVIS.”

“My pleasure, Miss Darcy.”

The moment she crossed the threshold from elevator to hallway she could hear Jane. There was a metallic bang and then a muffle voice, most likely her boss lady cussing out a piece of equipment. Darcy picked up her pace and headed down the hall towards Jane’s lab, where she’d hopefully find all of the equipment still in an untouched-by-Jane state. It was unlikely, but Darcy had hopes.

“Hey,” Steve suddenly, reaching out to lightly touch her elbow. Darcy paused and turned around. “I don’t know if it counts for much, but I think you should let Jean help you. And, if you want, I’ll be there for it. But only if you want.” He looked down at her, a face full of sincerity and earnest concern, and Darcy knew then exactly why Steve Rogers had been chosen for Project Rebirth. He was far too selfless.

“What did I say about making me cry?” she asked him quietly.

He smiled crookedly at her. “It’s a work in progress.”

Darcy huffed a laugh and reached out to poke him in the belly, her finger meeting only hard muscle. “That’s okay, you give good hugs so I think you can be forgiven.”

His grin widened. “Glad to be of service, ma’am.”

She rolled her eyes and turned to walk into the lab. She consciously straightened her spine and forced the dark thoughts to another corner of her mind, to be dealt with at another time. “Don’t ma’am me, or I’ll make you lift the spectrometer and move it to another floor.”

Jane, upon hearing her voice, popped up from between two machines like a meerkat coming out of its burrow. “Darcy! You’re better!” she exclaimed happily, seconds before her eyes narrowed. “You’ve been crying. Why have you been crying?”

Darcy tipped her thumb back at Steve behind her. “Steve’s fault.”

Jane’s eyes narrowed further and her gaze slid to Steve.

“I _didn’t_ —not on purpose!” he spluttered. “She ain’t telling the whole truth here,” he insisted, a bit of his old Brooklyn accent creeping into his tone.

Jane glared at him for a moment longer before transferring her look to Darcy. “I don’t doubt that, actually.”

“Hey! What happened to having my back? It’s like the rules of feminism, you know.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Jane shot back. “Now come here. I can’t make this work.”

“Of course you can’t, because you break shit, Jane. That’s what you do.”

“I don’t bre—” Jane began indignantly but Darcy cut her off at the first sight of all the wires sticking out haphazardly from a panel in the side of the machine.

“You totally broke it,” she sighed.

Behind them, Steve began laughing.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this finally happened. I'm hoping to make it happen again before the semester starts up once more. Cross your fingers. Maybe your toes too.
> 
> Happy (insert holiday here) to all of you who celebrate and Happy New Year to all of those who mark it on the first of January. Basically, two thumbs up to whatever you celebrate. Or don't. That's also cool.

“Miss Darcy, I must advise against this course of action. Again.”

JARVIS’ tone sounded as if he had absolutely no expectation of being listened to, but then again, he was Tony Stark’s AI so that shouldn’t have surprised her.

Darcy paused in the doorway of the main medical floor, the one that had been cleared as a safety precaution, the glass door held open by one hand. Outside of the Tower night had fallen and the majority of the floor was cloaked in shadows. Since it wasn’t being used by more than the one occupant and his doctors very few of the lights were on. It lent a spooky sort of air to the place.

“I know JARVIS, but I’ve never been very good at listening to good advice. Dive in head first and all that jazz.”

“That is how one obtains a concussion at best, or a broken neck at worst,” JARVIS replied.

“Duly noted,” Darcy said, stepping through the doorway. Above her, JARVIS sighed. It made her smile, just a bit. His protests were practically perfunctory, as if he simply wanted to clear his conscious and be able to say ‘I told you so’ to her later.

Darcy followed the familiar route to James’ room, her steps quiet on the linoleum. When she rounded the final corner and saw the empty hallway outside of James’ room she frowned to herself.

“JARVIS, why isn’t there any security here?” She had fully been expecting to have to talk her way into the room, or at least justify her presence there, but the hallway was just as empty as the rest of the floor.

“Stark Industries employs very few actual security personnel as I am perfectly capable of controlling the Tower with far more efficiency,” JARVIS said, a slightly haughty tone to his cool British voice.

She approached the window into James’ room and frowned when she saw nothing more than a rumpled bed and an empty hospital room.

“JARVIS? Where is James?” she said sharply, reaching for the door handle. “He’s not in his room?” She tried the door, but it was locked.

“Sergeant Barnes is within, Miss Darcy. He is currently crouched against the wall beneath the window. I do believe he heard your approach.”

Darcy glanced at the window again, almost expecting to see his head pop up from below like a contrite child caught hiding where they shouldn’t be, but nothing changed. If he was hiding where JARVIS said he was—and JAVRIS ought to know—then he sticking to his plan.

“Let me into the room, please, JARVIS.”

“Miss Darcy, his reaction is unpredictable. He could kill you. I cannot, in good conscious, let you in there.”

He was right, and she knew it. Unconscious or in a vegetative state he was easier to control, but awake, alert, and most likely not working with a full deck of cards? Who knew what he would do. He could kill her before she even got a word out.

“Well, then…Call for Steve,” Darcy said, moving to stand in front of the window once more. “He’ll go in there with me.”

“The Captain is currently on his way,” JARVIS replied.

Darcy turned to the nearest security camera and arched an eyebrow at it. JARVIS sighed again. “I alerted the Captain to your whereabouts and intentions the moment you arrived on this floor.”

“And it’s a good thing he did.”

Darcy spun again, this time to face the sound of Steve’s voice. He stood at the turn of the hallway, Jean Grey at his side. “Darcy, we don’t know what he’s capable of.”

“I _know_ ,” she said, hating that she sounded petulant, but she was getting tired of hearing the same thing over and over. She crossed her arms over her chest, tucking her hands away, even though she wore her gloves. “I just…I don’t know. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You want to help.”

Darcy couldn’t help but shoot the other mutant a dirty look as she and Steve approached. “Stay outta my head.”

Jean Grey arched a thin, red eyebrow but held up her hands in the universal sign of surrender. Darcy turned her attention to Steve.

“Will you go in there with me?”

Steve’s face softened with some emotion she couldn’t name, but he nodded all the same and reached for the door handle.

“JARVIS? If you please.”

“Of course, Captain.”

The lock clicked and Steve turned the handle, leading them into the room.

He had barely stepped across the threshold when he was thrown into the wall to his right with enough force to crumble the plaster. Darcy was close enough that she felt the disturbed air of their passing, her heart stuttered in her chest for a second, and then she too was shoved aside.

“Move!” Jean Grey yelled, shouldering past her and into the room.

Her brain kicked in and Darcy caught herself against the door jam. The sound of another mighty crash kicked her into high gear and she darted into the room just in time to see Jean Grey reach out towards James, her body several feet away from him, and lift him into the air. Steve let out a yell as James soared through the air and slammed into the opposite wall. Instead of sliding to the ground in a heap, however, he remained suspended against the cracked plaster. His eyes darted wildly around the room, never staying stationary for more than a few seconds, as he struggled against the impossible force of Jean Grey’s mutant powers.

“Jean, let him down!” Steve yelled at her.

“He wants to kill you,” she barked back, her eyes focused solely on James.

As Darcy watched, James let out a terrible sound, thrashing his body against the wall. It was part scream, and part whine, but completely terrified. Darcy grabbed Jean’s arm, trying to force it down.

“He’s terrified! You’re not helping.”

Jean’s eyes darted towards Darcy quickly before refocusing on James. She cocked her head slightly and her eyes narrowed for a moment, but then she slowly began lowering her arm. With the gesture, James slowly slid down the wall. His feet scrambled against the floor the second he reached it, and the moment Jean Grey released him from her hold he threw himself into the corner of the room, crouched and ready to attack again.

Darcy’s heart was pounding in her chest as she glanced between the three other people in the room. Steve lay sprawled on the floor, the wall above him an absolute mess. His perfectly combed hair was in disarray but other than that he seemed unharmed. He didn’t move to pick himself up off the floor, but he watched his friend with sharp, keen eyes. Beside her, Jean Grey was watching James with a shrewd look on her face, her head still cocked slightly to one side as if she were listening to something no one else could hear.

James’ eyes continued to dart around the room, shifting from Steve to the window, from the window to Jean, from Jean to the door, from the door to Darcy. She couldn’t be sure, but it seemed that his gaze lingered longer on her than on the others, and that gave her the courage to step forward. She’d barely shifted her weight to the other foot, however, when Jean’s hand shot out and gripped her forearm in a steel trap.

“He recognises your voice,” she said lowly, her eyes still on James, “but he still thinks everyone in this room is a threat.”

Darcy glanced down at Jean’s hand and then up at the older woman. Jean chanced a quick look at her. “Be _careful_.”

Jean released her hold as Darcy nodded. Turning back to James, she found that those piercing blue eyes that she remembered from just before she passed out were darting solely between her and Jean Grey. Slowly, oh so slowly, Darcy approached. Carefully, she stepped over Steve’s splayed legs. Pieces of plaster crunched underfoot, and she could hear Steve’s increased breathing. She ignored everything else as James’ attention shifted to her, his crazed eyes sizing her up.

“James?” she murmured, trying to keep her voice from shaking. Approaching a crazed assassin the way one would a wild animal was probably the stupidest thing she’d ever done, and if Jane were in the room there’d be hysterical berating of her idiocy, but despite the fact that she felt her entire body vibrating from the adrenaline rush, Darcy didn’t stop. “James, do you remember me?”

She held out a hand towards him and his eyes shifted towards it for a second before darting back to her face. “James, I come and visit you sometimes and I—”

The rest of her words were lost as he suddenly lunged forward. Darcy knew a split second of absolute terror, she heard the twin cries of Jean and Steve, and then she was yanked forward by her outstretched hand and slammed up against the wall. The force of it knocked the breath from her lungs and she gasped, trying to get air into her body. She expected to see James’ face, to see the insanity in his eyes, just before he killed her but instead she got…the back of his head?

Once again, it took her brain a few precious seconds to catch up with what had just happened and she found herself pressed against the hospital room wall, tucked right into the corner to be precise, with James’ warm human hand pressed against her shoulder, keeping her in place. The other hand, the metal one, was held in front of him, fingers splayed and ready for whatever may come forward.

“He’s…protecting her,” Jean Grey said slowly. Darcy could only slightly see the other woman over James’ shoulder. He was a lot larger when he was standing up in front of her, rather than lying in a bed, or curled up in a corner. “From _us_.”

Darcy heard, rather than saw, Steve get up. The crunching and sliding sound of broken plaster was distinctive. “Buck, we’re not here to hurt you, or Darcy.”

She heard Steve take a step. In response, James removed his hand from her shoulder and dropped into a slight crouch. His position gave Darcy a better view of the room, of Steve standing there with his hands held up and his eyes intent on his friend. Darcy glanced down at James’ back and for a brief, wildly stupid second, she contemplated jumping on his back and attempting to subdue him, but she dismissed it almost the second it entered her brain. She wasn’t strong enough by any stretch of the imagination considering that he’d tossed Steve around like a rag doll, and it would break whatever little trust he might have in her if he was willing to put himself between her and his perceived enemies.

“Stand down, Steve,” Jean Grey commanded, her tone hard and sharp. Her arms were slightly raised from her sides, ready to lash out and take physical control of the situation if need be.

Steve held up a hand to her, and took another step forward. James mirrored his movement, which put him right up against Darcy. He was close enough that his butt actually brushed against her pelvis, and maybe in another life Darcy would have burst out laughing at that fact, but James was ready to attack the best friend he didn’t remember and it certainly wasn’t the time to be giggling about awkward positioning.

“Steve, can you not?” Darcy said, tension making her tone snappy. James shifted slightly at the sound of her voice, but neither of the men took their eyes off of each other.

“You are going to make this situation _worse,_ Steve,” Jean Grey bit out, frustration clear in her tone. “Step back, come outside with me. There are things you need to know.”

Darcy watched the muscles in Steve’s jaw flex as he ground his teeth together, and for a moment she thought he would ignore Jean again, but then he stepped back and slowly raised his hands in surrender. Darcy, close as she was, noticed that this display of vulnerability did not make James relax. In fact, he tensed further. She had a thought, it flew lightning fast through her mind, and before she could debate upon it she had whipped off her glove and reached out to grasp his bicep, the flesh and bone one, just as he began to move forward.

Instantly, she was swarmed by his thoughts and emotions, of his intention to lunge and take advantage of Steve’s—of the _target’s_ —weakness. It all slammed into her like a fucking freight train—the fear, confusion, the _anger_ —and she let go of him reflexively, falling back to let the wall take the majority of her weight. He twitched away from her, casting a quick look over his shoulder at her, before switching back to Steve and Jean. If his mind had been chaotic when he was catatonic, it was an absolute war zone now that he was awake. In just a few seconds, she had been swarmed by a myriad of images, all confused and jumbled together, along with thoughts and snippets of remembered voices. Overlaying it all had been the desperate need to neutralize the threats.

“Darcy!” Steve looked like he was about to rush over. Darcy held up a shaky hand.

“I’m all right Cap’,” she told him. She glanced down at James, still crouched, shifting his weight from one foot to the other much like a jungle cat getting ready to pounce. Steeling herself, she reached out and gently pressed her fingertips to the skin of his human arm.

She was a little more prepared for it this time, and she was able to hold herself apart from him a bit. Knowing that he would probably only give her mere seconds before he pulled himself away from her touch, she simply shoved her memories at him. They were target specific, and while it lacked finesse, she was able to push images of him and Steve, pictures from history textbooks and the internet, pictures of them as teenagers, and as soldiers during the war.

As she’d predicted, he wrenched away from her touch the moment he registered it. They’d barely made a mental connection before he’d terminated it, and Darcy couldn’t be sure that he’d even seen any of the things she’d tried to shove into his head, except that he pivoted to look at her, a gasp escaping his mouth. His eyes turned wide and for a brilliant second Darcy thought that she’d gotten through to him, that her tiny little intervention had somehow triggered his memories and he remembered Steve, such was the look on his face. But then his expression crumpled and he squeezed his eyes shut. Before she could draw another breath, both of his hands were up, taking great big fistfuls of his hair and pulling with enough strength to rip his scalp right off. From his mouth came a terrible, animalistic keening sound that speared Darcy right through the chest.

Steve lunged, his friend’s name on his lips, and slid to his knees in front of James but the second his hands made contact with James’s wrists, the other man lashed out.

“NO!” he screamed, kicking out at Steve and sending him flying into the wall yet again.

James toppled back into Darcy, knocking her to the floor, but he barely spared her a glance before he was scrambling to his feet and hurtling himself over the rumpled bed towards Jean Grey and the door.

Darcy watched as Jean lifted her hands again, her fingers splayed wide and her palms flat out towards the advancing assassin. One second he was running towards her, the next he was standing stock still, his body frozen in motion.

“I’m sorry, but I cannot let you do that,” Jean said gently, her calm tone at odds with the chaos around them. In the next second James crumpled, his body going loose as a marionette with its strings cut. He fell towards the floor but never made impact as Jean shifted her hands and gently cradled his limp form with her power, guiding him back to the bed and setting him down.

Steve’s groan snapped Darcy’s attention away from Jean and James. Slowly, Steve picked himself up off the floor, one hand on his chest where, presumably, he’d been kicked.

Darcy wanted to ask if he was okay, but she was still reeling a little, her breath still coming in fast, and if she were honest with herself, she’d much rather sit in a quiet room for a little bit and maybe shut her brain off. She glanced at Jean, who was looking between Darcy and Steve with a less than impressed look on her face.

“So. That went _well_.”

Steve shot her a look, still rubbing his sternum gingerly. “What did you do to him?”

“What does it look like?” Jean retorted sharply. “He’s gone night-night, and will stay that way until we leave the room. Hopefully he’ll keep sleeping naturally, because he hasn’t done much of that in a while, but I’d rather not have to deal with him when conscious so can we maybe…?” She jerked her thumb towards the door, taking a step back.

Steve glanced back at the bed a tad reluctantly but followed Jean out the door. Darcy followed, but then stopped at the end of the bed and let her eyes sweep over James’ prone form. Even in sleep, he did not look peaceful. His brow creased in a frown and his body tensed sporadically.

“Darcy.”

Jean stood in the doorway, gesturing impatiently to her with one hand. Darcy crossed the room, picking her way between pieces of plaster, and closed the door behind her. She heard the lock engage the moment the door was in place.

“What happened in there?” Steve demanded, looking between the two of them for answers.

“I’m not even fucking sure,” Jean said, frustrated. “His mind is chaotic, I can barely get a thread on what he’s thinking before it switches over to something else. He’s got too much going on in there, I don’t know how he’s processing it all.”

“I don’t think that,” Darcy gestured with her head towards the window, “counts as ‘processing it’.”

Jean tilted her head to one side, raising her eyebrows briefly. “He’s processing some of it, because he remembers you.” Jean gestured to Darcy. “I think it’s why he was protecting you.”

“But why would he think we’re threats?” Steve interjected. He looked both confused and frustrated, raking his hands through his hair and mussing it up even more.

Jean’s expression softened as she looked at him and, instantly, Darcy recognised it as pity. “I’m not sure, but he’s equal parts terrified of you, and furious with you.”

“Me?” Steve echoed, staring at Jean.

“You’re the target,” Darcy murmured, turning to look back at the window. “That’s what I got from him when I touched him. In his mind, you’re still his target, and Jean is an accessory, another threat.” James continued to slumber, and she wondered if it was natural or not, if Jean had released her hold on him.

Steve went silent. Darcy glanced back at him and felt her guilt swell at the look on his face. Perhaps she shouldn’t have told him that part, though he’d be bound to put it together sooner or later. The whole attacking bit was a big hint, and Steve was far from stupid even if he wasn’t properly educated.

“But he _saved me_ ,” Steve said, more to himself than to Darcy and Jean. “He could have let me drown, but he didn’t.”

“He may not remember that,” Jean pointed out. “His mind is a sieve. There are a lot of holes, and it’s all running around at once, so he doesn’t exactly have a good handle on reality.”

Steve turned from both of them at that, one hand going over his face. His shoulders hunched up, as if trying to protect himself, and the next breath he took shook his frame. Without saying another word to either of the women, he walked away, his long legs taking him rapidly down the hall and around the corner.

Darcy looked down at her hands, and belated realised that she only had one glove. The other was in the room, probably on the floor in that corner, where she’d dropped it at some point.

“You won’t need it,” Jean told her.

Darcy glared at her. _Stay out of my goddamn head!_

Jean’s eyes narrowed and she quickly closed the gap between the two of them, getting right into Darcy’s face. “ _Make me_ ,” she growled. “Learn how to control it, learn how to block me.” She turned slightly and jabbed her finger towards James. “You want to help that man? Then learn from me. This isn’t a game, and there are consequences if you fuck it up!”

“Then why don’t _you_ do it?” Darcy’s words burst out of her, laced with anger and frustration. “You’re the expert telepath, the Omega mutant. You help him! _I didn’t sign up for this!_ ”

“You think any of us did?” Jean demanded, her face screwed up in anger. “You think any of us wouldn’t give pretty much _anything_ to have been born normal, to never have had to deal with the shit that we’ve been through?” She scoffed. “This is the hand you’ve been dealt, and there’s no going back on it now, because that man in there? You’re the only person he recognises right now, the only person he even remotely trusts. Why? I haven’t a fucking _clue_. His brain is so fucked up, even I have trouble making sense of it, but what I do know is that he thought he was protecting _you_ from Steve and I. And that fucking matters, so you’re going to learn how to help him, starting tomorrow.”

Darcy opened her mouth to tell Jean Grey that she could go _fuck_ herself but the other woman held up a hand. “That’s not a request, Darcy Lewis,” she said quietly, her soft tone threatening. Without another word, Jean turned on her heel and walked away, her back ramrod straight and her gait stiff and angry.

When she was around the corner, Darcy spun around and faced the glass, anger still thrumming through her veins. She pressed her fingertips to the glass and ground her teeth together to keep in the scream of frustration that wanted to escape.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see James helped. His circumstances, and the emotional upheaval that she imagined Steve must be going through, it tore at her heart, but that didn’t mean she was the person to set it to rights. She had called for Xavier _because_ she knew she was out of her depths, not so the burden of responsibility could be thrust upon her shoulders.

She didn’t _want_ to learn how to use her so-called _gift_. She wanted to pretend that it didn’t exist and go back to tinkering with her machines and yelling at Jane when she tried to put her hand to something that wasn’t directly astrophysics related. She feared letting Jean Grey into her head, not because she had something to hide, but because there might be things there that she didn’t know existed, memories that had been suppressed. What else had her mother hidden from her? Darcy had barely made any inroads at trying to understand her mother’s intentions with the binding and now Jean Grey wanted to remove it entirely, letting loose whatever her mind contained.

Even if were there no other suppressed memories, what of her powers? Her ability to move objects had always been so weak, and now she knew why. If the binding was removed, who was to say she could control it at all? She could hurt people.

And if all of those fears weren’t enough, the possibility of hurting _James_ was very, very real. She had virtually no experience in the healing of minds, though she knew it could be done by powerful telepaths. Darcy didn’t even understand the bare bones of psychology, let alone how to heal the mind of a traumatised, nearly hundred old amnesiac who probably had a whole slew of other issues that hadn’t been uncovered yet. By all rights, Jean Grey should be the one helping him, she could build trust with him, and in the end he’d be better served by having her rooting around in his head instead of Darcy.

In the room beyond her, James let out a moan as he shifted in the bed. It’s a sound that held no pleasure what so ever, and it made her gut clench in guilt. Jean Grey had clearly lifted her hold on him, but instead of being released into a natural slumber it seemed that he was in the grip of a nightmare.

“He doesn’t look too good.”

Darcy gasped and whirled around.

“Does _everyone_ around here walk on fucking _air_?” she demanded, her heart thumping wildly in her chest.

Tony Stark smirked at her and gestured toward his feet. “Two thousand dollar Italian loafers.”

Darcy turned away from him, her eyes returning to James and his nightmare. As she watched, he began to flail around, thrashing on the bed as if trying to escape something, or someone.

“What are you doing down here Stark?”

“It’s my tower,” he said, and she didn’t even have to turn around to know he’d given her an indolent shrug. “And JARVIS told me he was fucking shit up down here. Figured I’d come assess the damage.”

“He threw Steve into the wall a few times,” Darcy told him quietly.

“That’s like foreplay to Capsicle.”

Darcy didn’t reply. She wasn’t in the mood for witty banter, and the last she’d seen of Stark he’d been livid with her so she wasn’t exactly sure why he was standing just behind her and acting as if none of that had ever happened.

“Watching him isn’t going to change anything,” Stark said out of nowhere, his voice no longer tinged with its usual sarcasm. “Come to my workshop, I have something for you.”

“What?” Darcy turned to look at him incredulously.

Stark scrunched up his face and shook his head. “Don’t do that. I don’t do the whole talking it out shit, okay? Just…Just come with me. I’ve got DUM-E all taken apart and cleaned. I’m waiting for you to put the poor bastard back together.” Stark turned for the exit and gestured with his hand over his shoulder. “C’mon, Lewis.”

Darcy contemplated telling _him_ to go fuck himself, but she recognised the Stark olive branch for what it was, and while she knew she needed to go sleep—her body was lagging quickly—she also knew that Stark had an entire vending machine worth of energy drinks and other caffeinated beverages down in his play pen that would keep her going for hours. And she’d much rather tinker with DUM-E than head up to her room and open her mind up to the dreams she’d surely have.

With a sigh, she followed after Stark, noting that while her Chucks make a soft squeak against the linoleum tiles, his stupid Italian loafers were silent as the grave.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay.
> 
> Unfortunately, there will probably be another long delay after this. I'm going in for surgery on my leg/knee and though I'll be lain up in bed for a while, I'll also probably be high as fucking kite and that isn't exactly conducive to writing. In the event that I'm not tripping balls, I will write, you have my word. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 8

“So, I hear you’ve been hanging out with Stark.”

Jane tried to drop it casually into conversation, but considering the fact that there was absolutely no segue and that Jane was trying far too hard to look nonchalant, Darcy wasn’t buying it.

They sat across from each other at the only clear desk in the lab. It was the only clear desk because it was reserved for meal times and desperate naps. If Darcy hadn’t vetoed its use for anything else it would no doubt be covered in bits of their madness—namely a lot of papers and spare parts.

“Sometimes,” she hedged. “I’ve been fixing DUM-E, mostly.”

“Stark can’t do that?”

“I don’t mind,” Darcy admitted, poking at her food with her fork. “I’m making some modifications.”

“Of course you are. I’m sure Stark’ll love that.”

“He needs a little more grey hair if you ask me.”

“I thought you two didn’t like each other,” Jane asked. She dropped her fork on to her plate, abandoning all pretence of disinterest. “What happened?”

Darcy shrugged slightly and made a face. “We hugged it out. Turns out he’s a big hugger.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “Seriously, what happened?”

“Nothing, really.” Darcy stabbed a piece of chicken and popped it into her mouth, the spices bursting on her tongue. “He invited me to work on DUM-E. And then ordered more shawarma than either of us could ever eat. I think he has a hard on for the stuff.”

“Have I had shawarma?” Jane asked, cocking her head slightly to the side.

Darcy grinned. “Not yet, but we can put it on the list.”

Jane hummed in agreement and picked up her fork again, swirling it in the rice noodles on her plate. Jane walked through life with her head either in a book, or in the clouds, and it was amazing the number of things she didn’t know about, despite being a certified genius. The day she’d asked Darcy what the hell ‘halal’ meant and why was it on every damn take-out menu was the day Darcy decided expanding Jane’s world one culinary delight at a time was her new purpose in life. Even _Steve_ had looked at her favourite astrophysicist as if she’d lived under a rock and that man had been asleep for the majority of the Western world’s lessons in cultural sensitivity.

Suddenly, a mushroom landed on Darcy’s plate and she cocked an eyebrow at Jane.

“What?” Jane asked defensively. “I don’t like those ones. They look like little penises.”

Darcy looked back down at the long, thin mushroom and burst into laughter. Unbidden, the thought of Thor—all muscles and huge proportions—with a penis the size of the mushroom on her plate blossomed into her mind. She dropped her fork and clapped a hand over her mouth, trying simultaneously not to spray Singapore noodles* all over the desk or choke on them.

“It’s not _that_ funny,” Jane said, eyeing her as if she’d lost it.

“If you think that that’s what a penis looks like you’ve got bigger problems than I can solve,” Darcy said, hand in front of her mouth.

Jane narrowed her eyes and threw another mushroom on to Darcy’s plate.

“Oh shut up. I’ve seen _plenty_ of penises.”

 ** _-_** **_✮_** **_-_**

Reaching deep into the little robot’s body, Darcy plugged one last wire in. Instantly, little LED lights within the body and without started blinking, and the whole thing gave a shudder. She withdrew her hand, careful not to cut it on the sharp edges of DUM-E’s innards, and waited for his system to boot up.

A testament to Stark’s machinery, it didn’t take him long. His arm extended and the claw swivelled, like a person rotating their wrist after long disuse. Then his cameras noticed her sitting on the floor before him and he turned, making that familiar chirruping sound of his. Darcy was surprised to feel her eyes tear up, just a tad, at the familiarity of it.

She reached out for his claw and he met her halfway, gripping her fingers gently with the rubber coated tips.

“You silly boy,” she told him. “You’re lucky you’re a robot, or you could have gotten seriously hurt.”

He seemed to pause for a second, taking in her words, and then he responded by shaking her hand up and down. She took it for a nod, since he didn’t really have a head.

“Promise me, you’ll stay away from the pool from now on?”

DUM-E chirruped happily and shook her hand once more. Darcy smiled and disengaged her fingers. “Good. Now I have a very serious question for you.”

The claw swivelled to one side, much like a dog cocking its head.

“How do you feel about having a voice?”

DUM-E chirruped at her, and the sound ended on a high note, giving it a distinctly questioning tone. It was the only sound he was capable of making, but Darcy had been adding a few things here and there as she put him back together. All that was left to do was upload the sound bites to his system and let him sort through them. She picked up a portable hard drive from where she’d left it on the floor and held it up to him.

“Three terabytes of audio, my friend. Whatcha think?”

She’d pulled everything from both her and Jane’s personal computers; music, movies, audio lectures on obscure forms of science—those belonged solely to Jane—and ran them through a program that broke them up into their individual words and sounds, making each one a file. Unfortunately, she couldn’t upgrade DUM-E to the same level as JARVIS without completely re-writing his programming, and that would wipe out DUM-E himself, which Darcy was just not willing to do. This was a compromise, giving him a voice without taking away that he was. All DUM-E had to do was learn what each file was and how to use them. She’d totally ripped the idea off of Michael Bay, à la Bumblebee, but whatever.

DUM-E reached out for the hard drive, taking it from her hand and promptly attempted to put it inside the open panel on his body. Darcy laughed and took it back from him.

“It doesn’t quite work like that,” she told him. She reached for a few cords and pulled her laptop closer. “We need some reinforcements.”

She hooked him up to the laptop, and the laptop up to the hard drive, to begin the transfer of data. His LED lights began to blink rapidly as the transfer began and DUM-E let out a little trill that sounded almost exactly like maniacal laughter.

“I see you’ve fixed the robot.”

Darcy’s heart jumped into her throat and she twisted around to find the Black Widow standing a few feet behind her, dressed in her black cat suit, a bruise blooming on her left cheekbone.

“Jesus,” Darcy muttered on the exhale. “You just scared a solid year off of my lifespan.”

“Are you hiding from someone?” the Widow asked, arching a neat, red eyebrow.

“Stark. Sort of.”

The Widow looked around pointedly, taking in the chaotic mess that was Stark’s personal workshop, and then arched the other eyebrow.

“I know, I know.” Darcy held up a hand. “I’m in his workshop. But he’s not here, is he?”

The other woman nodded her head once in agreement, and then asked, “Why are you hiding from Stark?”

Darcy smirked at her. She wasn’t afraid to tell Agent Romanov what she was up to. Darcy was willing to bet that she was the kind of woman unopposed to a harmless prank that would drive Stark up the wall.

“DUM-E is about to become the brand new owner of an audio database,” Darcy told her, pointing at the laptop on the floor between her legs.

Romanov’s lips twitched ever so slightly. “Is that a good idea?”

Darcy shrugged, completely unrepentant. “Stark could use a few more grey hairs,” she said, repeating her earlier words to Jane.

The Widow cocked her head. “That robot,” she pointed at DUM-E, “follows you around a lot more than it does Stark.”

Darcy looked at DUM-E, who swivelled his claw towards her and chirruped as if he were agreeing. His little LEDs continued to blink furiously at her.

“Er…well…” Darcy bit her lip and looked up at the Widow, who was definitely smiling even if it was a tiny one. “Oops?”

“Mmmhmm,” she agreed, humour in her tone. She glanced around the room once more, her demeanour shifting subtly as she did, becoming more focused. “Do you know where I might locate Stark?”

“Sir is in his personal rooms, Agent Romanov,” JARVIS chimed in.

The Widow nodded, to herself or to JARVIS, Darcy wasn’t sure. “Please ask him to meet me in the conference room. I have information to share with him.”

“As you wish, Agent Romanov.”

With another nod to Darcy, and a wry look at DUM-E, Romanov turned on her heel and headed for the door. Just on the threshold, however, she paused and turned back to Darcy.

“Have you been keeping up with your practice?” she asked, making Darcy look up from her computer screen again.

“Huh? Oh. Sort of,” Darcy said, a blush rising up into her neck. She hadn’t really. There’d been so much going on she hadn’t even thought of it. “I haven’t really had the time.”

The Widow gave her a look that clearly said ‘ _Excuses_ ’ and Darcy’s blush intensified. “Make time. Your life is important,” she said simply.

Her eyes met Darcy’s across the room for a heartbeat, and then she walked out of the workshop, her words bouncing around inside Darcy’s head.

 ** _-_** **_✮_** **_-_**

She’d been aimlessly cleaning up her apartment, something that didn’t really need to be done since Stark had a service that came in and did all the cleaning for her—with her permission, of course. Jane had opted out of that, more out of shame for her slovenly ways than any need for privacy, or at least that was Darcy’s best guess, because Jane _hated_ cleaning. Darcy did too, for that matter, but when she was putting off doing something she absolutely dreaded—namely conceding to Jean Grey’s demands—she’d gladly clean the toilet with a toothbrush if it got her off the hook.

Her bookshelves had just been reorganised when she’d spotted her old spiral bound notebook. It was one of the few she’d kept from college. She had been pretty damn proud of that notebook, a lot of time and effort had gone in to making what basically equated to an entire course’s worth of information, including diagrams.

Instantly, she thought of Steve, and how he lacked the kind of basic science knowledge that most high school graduates had. Her notebook went above and beyond that, sure, and maybe he’d have to look some things up but Darcy didn’t doubt that Steve was an intelligent man, he _was_ the leader of their little rag-tag group of superheroes after all, he was the one with the strategies.

She plucked the notebook off of her bookcase and went to go find him, knowing exactly where he would be found.

Sure enough, when she turned down the now familiar corner en route to James’ hospital room she found Steve sitting in one of the chairs along the wall, a book in his hands. He looked like the adult who had been relegated to the kiddie table at Thanksgiving dinner; the chairs were definitely not designed for super soldiers.

“You want to learn you some knowledge?” Darcy asked, making Steve look up from the novel he was currently engrossed in.

“What?” He frowned at her, no doubt put off by her terrible grammar.

She held up a thick spiral bound notebook. It was one of those 5 subject monstrosities but in reality it only held 2 subjects and it was still bursting at the seams with extra papers and articles.

“In college I took a couple of interest courses,” she told him, dropping the notebook on the little table beside him with a light _fwap_ sound. “These are my exam study notes for Basic Human Anatomy and Pathology 1. They won’t make you a doctor or anything, but it’s more current than what I imagine you learned in school.”

Steve closed his book and put it down on the table, reaching out for her notebook and sliding it towards him. “We didn’t really learn much in the way of science in school,” he told her, opening the bright blue cover of the notebook to peer at the first page of notes, which was about identifying the different planes and regions of the body. “Maybe they did in older grades, but I dropped out pretty young.”

Darcy’s eyebrows went up and she slid herself into the seat next to him. “Captain America is a drop out?”

He shrugged slightly, not meeting her eyes. “I needed money more than I needed an education.”

Darcy felt a trickle of shame creep up her spine. She’d forgotten that Steve had grown up in poverty, the kind that meant putting food on the table was far more important than learning your letters. She reached out and put a hand on his clothed arm.

“I’m sorry,” she told him earnestly. Sorry that she’d teased him about it, sorry that it had been a necessity.

He smiled slightly, glancing up at her real quick, but his body was still tense and stiff as his eyes flipped ahead and skimmed through her notes, taking in the pictures that she had painstakingly printed off and pasted into her notes so that she could draw arrows to definitions and circle things.

“Bucky was always interested in stuff like this,” he told her. “He always wanted to know how things worked, whether it was the engine of a car, or a person’s eye. He was curious about that kind of stuff.”

His tone was wistful, and Darcy was sharply reminded that even though Steve had found his best friend, he didn’t really have him back. As far as she knew, Steve hadn’t actually gone into the room since their disastrous interlude. She looked around her, at the bank of chairs and the shitty little table with old magazines on it, and the complete lack of other human beings. It was incredibly depressing.

“Well, then you should get to reading,” she told him, grabbing the pages and flipping back to the beginning. “So you can teach him.”

When he looked up at her again his smile was more genuine and it made her heart lighter to see it. She hadn’t known him before he and Sam burst into the Tower with James’ slung between them but she could easily believe that the shadows in his eyes were not new companions. He had a heavy weight on his soul, she could see that much. He may have been strong, but a body could only take so much. She squeezed his arm reassuringly and smiled back.

“Let me know if you have any questions. I have a couple textbooks for reference if you need them, but these are some pretty banging notes, if I do say so myself.”

He nodded, eyes back on the page. “I do have one question,” he said, a slight frown between his brows.

“Already?”

He made a humming sound, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully before looking up at her. “Penmanship isn’t taught in schools anymore, is it?” he asked, glancing pointedly at her loose, loopy scrawl.

“Hey!” Darcy punched his arm, to absolutely no effect. Steve laughed, leaning away from her slightly.

“Was that supposed to hurt?”

“You keep saying shit like that and I’m going to start calling you a golden oldie, like Stark,” Darcy grumbled. Standing up, she got a good look at his blond hair and its perfectly straight part. Impulsively, she reached out and savagely ruffled his hair as fast as she could. She pulled away before the minimal contact with his scalp could form a connection.

“HEY!”

Darcy darted back, laughing. “Mess with the bull, get the horns, Steve!”

He brought a hand up, trying to smooth down his hair, but it was pretty useless, as she had mussed it up well and good. He glared at her from under his arm.

“That’s how it’s gonna be, is it?” he asked, a little bit of that Brooklyn accent coming out.

“Not my fault you’re so protective of your hair, pretty boy,” Darcy teased, a gloating smirk on her face.

“Oh yeah?” Steve moved faster than her eyes could track, and before she could do anything about it, her notebook was on the chair beside his and he was darting towards her.

She let out a yelp of surprise and turned to run, but it was completely in vain. She felt his arm close around her chest, pinning her arms to her sides, and then there was a set of knuckles rubbing furiously in her hair.

Darcy’s yelp turned into a shriek as Steve gave her a ‘noogie’, cackling like an insane person all the while. She jerked in his grip, but he had her pinned to his chest, and she wasn’t wearing her gloves so she couldn’t grab his hands. She tried letting her knees go limp in the hope that he’d drop her, but this was Captain America she’d challenged, he held her up like she weighed absolutely nothing and continued to ravage her hair while she screeched incoherently and flailed about.

She was just beginning to feel the inkling of a connection between his knuckles and her scalp, little bursts of amusement and happiness, when he abruptly let her go, his laughter falling silent.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Steve!” she growled, hands reaching up to her hair and wincing at the mess that she felt. She pulled her pony tail out and turned to tell him that this meant _war_ when she realised exactly why he’d let her go so quickly.

Standing in the doorway of his room, his eyes darting about wildly, was James.

She froze, glancing quickly at Steve, and then back to James. He held his hands out to his sides slightly, fingers relaxed, but Darcy recognised this stance from her time with the Widow. He would fly into action the second either of them gave him an excuse. His eyes continued to flick about, never staying on one thing for too long.

Darcy glanced at Steve again, but he was frozen in place, his arm positioned as if he still held her, and his eyes locked on his friend. She didn’t know if Captain America had ever frozen up before, but there was a first time for everything. Swallowing, Darcy took a breath.

“James?”

His head snapped towards her, his eyes zeroing in on her face. The intensity in them slammed into her, and she unconsciously took a step back from him. He noticed it; his eyes glancing down to her feet, and then back up to her face.

“Becca,” he said. The word was sharp, short, and without the inflection at the end that would indicate a question.

Slowly, Darcy shook her head. “My name is Darcy.”

He frowned at her then. It was an expression more of anger than confusion, and it made her want to take another step back, but before she could respond, Steve spoke up.

“Becca is…she’s gone, Buck.” The grief was thick in his voice, the regret, and suddenly Darcy didn’t want to know who ‘Becca’ had been.

James turned his attention to Steve, mistrust written all over his face. Steve must have seen it too, because he elaborated.

“She had a heart attack, in ’63,” Steve told him. “She’s buried next to your parents, in Brooklyn Heights.”

James turned his head and shook it slightly, as if he couldn’t believe what Steve had said. “You’re a liar,” he rasped, his voice scratchy and deep. “You’re a liar!” he repeated, louder this time. His hands went up to his head, gripping his skull as if he wanted to rip it apart. “YOU’RE A LIAR!” he screamed it this time. “STOP LYING TO ME!” He turned, shaking his head violently, and his body seemed to curl in on itself, the doorframe being the only thing holding him up.

Steve stepped forward, his hand out as if to reach for his friend. “Bucky, I’m so sor—”

James lashed out before Steve even had a chance to touch him, his metal arm knocking away Steve’s hand with enough force to break a normal person’s bones. In the same swift move, James slammed the heel of his right hand straight into Steve’s chest, throwing him backwards and on to the floor.

The sight of Steve flying through the air for the second time in as many days lit a fire under Darcy’s ass and before she could think about what she was doing, she was throwing herself between the two super soldiers.

“STOP!” she yelled, skidding to a stop over Steve’s prone form, both hands held up as James advanced.

To her immense surprise, he listened. He stopped dead in his tracks for a second, his eyes blazing hatred and his chest heaving, and then, as if a switch had been flicked, he seemed to crumple from within. His hands came up to his head again and he stepped back, stumbling as he went.

“Miss Darcy, should I call the appropriate personnel?”

James’ entire body twitched at the sound of JARVIS’ voice, and he spun in a circle, looking for the source of the sound. His hands remained clenched to the sides of his head as he turned again and slowly backed up towards a wall.

“No!” Steve’s voice came from behind her, slightly wheezy but mostly all right. “We’ll handle it, JARVIS.”

Wisely, JARVIS didn’t speak again, but Darcy had no doubt that he was monitoring the situation. She turned her attention back on James, who had squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head slightly from side to side. His lips moved rapidly, repeating the same words as if he were praying, or chanting, but Darcy was too far away to hear what it was that he said.

“James?” she called softly, slowly stepping forward. “Steve and I are here to help you, James. Do you remember us?”

He didn’t answer her, not that she really expected one. Behind her, Steve stood up and she held up a hand to him without taking her eyes off James. Steve seemed to set him off, and the last thing they needed was another scene reminiscent of that hospital room. Jean Grey had said that he’d recognised her voice, and Darcy hoped to capitalise on that.

“James, I know everything must be confusing right now, but you’re in a safe place. No one here wants to hurt you.” She crept closer, feeling as if she approached a rabid dog, something likely to pounce without warning. She crouched, as slowly as she could, and as she knelt in front of him she finally heard what he was whispering to himself.

“He’s a liar. He’s a liar. He’s a liar. He’s a liar.” It was whispered like a furious mantra. Darcy glanced back at Steve, knowing that his enhanced hearing meant that he could most likely hear. Judging by the heart wrenching expression on his face, Darcy figured he got the message, loud and clear.

“Who is a liar, James?” Darcy asked, turning back to him.

He looked up at her, his eyes still burning with emotion. “ _Him_ ,” he said earnestly, as if the emphasis would help her understand.

“Do you mean Steve?” Darcy turned to glance at Steve quickly, and then looked back at James. He followed her gaze, glancing at Steve, but there was no recognition in his gaze.

“No. _Him_.”

Darcy, frowning, opened her mouth to ask James just who the hell this ‘him’ was if it wasn’t Steve, when a memory popped into her mind. It wasn’t really her memory, though, it belonged to James.

“Do you mean the blond man?” she asked softly. “The older one, in the suit?”

James looked at her sharply. “You know him,” he said, more statement than question, and there was a hardness to his voice that set Darcy on edge.

“No,” she told him quickly, shaking her head slightly. “I saw him in your mind. Do you remember?”

“You’re in my mind?” he echoed, and this time there was a note of panic in his voice.

“No!” Darcy said, louder than she meant to. James recoiled from her and Darcy bit back a curse. She was fucking everything up, left, right, and center. “No,” she repeated, softer this time. “I’m not in your mind right now, James. I can only do that if I touch your skin with my skin.”

She held up a hand, and wiggled her fingers slightly, but made it clear that she had no intentions of touching him. He eyed her hand as if it were a live bomb, but Darcy knew that if she were ever to gain his trust she had to be honest with him from the get-go.

“I’m a mutant, James. Do you know what that means?”

Slowly, he nodded his head ‘yes’, still eyeing her and her hand with distrust. She dropped it to her lap and sat down in front of him.

“My…gifts, I guess you could call them, are telepathic and telekinetic. When I touch someone’s skin with my own, I can hear their thoughts, and feel their emotions. And when I focus on an object, I can move it a bit,” Darcy told him. “I’m supposed to be training in this area, but if we’re being completely honest, I’m not exactly a fan of my instructor. She’s a bit of a bitch.”

James continued to eye her as she spoke, but his arms relaxed and slowly his hands came down from his head.

“She, and Steve,” Darcy gestured behind her, but James’ eyes remained focused on her face, “think that I can help you with my powers. What do you think of that?”

She knew she was speaking to him as if he were a child, or a bit touched in the head, but at the moment she didn’t know how else to talk to him. His emotional stability seemed to be non-existent, and she had no idea how much of the situation he understood. He didn’t seem to remember meeting her before, or Steve. One second he was enraged, the next he was terrified. How else could she speak to him other than slowly, softly, and in small sentences?

At his lack of a response, Darcy continued on blithely, “Well, you don’t have to decide right away. We have plenty of time,” she told him, even though she wasn’t exactly sure that was true. How long did they have? Were they on a timeline? She knew that Hydra was still an issue on the Avengers’ radar, though it didn’t seem to be a collective effort. She assumed that the Widow was still active, considering the way she had shown up in Stark’s work shop looking like she’d just had a scuffle, and Darcy knew that Barton had been dispatched somewhere, but as far as she’d heard they were the only two active in the field. Thor was on Asgard, Banner was in Africa putting his training and his inability to contract Ebola to good use, Steve was in the Tower, and Stark was…being Stark. Where James fit into the equation, and when, was an unknown for her.

“What do you say to going back to your room?” she asked him, trying to inject a little pep into her voice.

Instantly, he shook his head and scooted a little farther away from her, and the doorway. Darcy couldn’t see why being in his room was such a bad idea, but she wasn’t about to argue the point with the man. She looked back at Steve and gave him a look as if to say ‘ _What now?_ ’ but he was of little help as he just spread his hands, his eyes going back to his friend.

Darcy sighed softly and turned back to James. He watched her silently from behind the curtain of his long, greasy hair. He needed a wash, and probably a cut, but those were down at the bottom of her priority list.

“Well, if we’re going to sit out here we may as well get as comfortable as we can,” she said to both of them. Turning on the linoleum, she scooted back until she was leaning against the wall under the window that allowed a view into his room. James, only a few inches away, continued to watch her. She was casting about for something to say, something to engage him with, when she spotted Steve’s book and her notebook on the floor in front of the overturned chair. Apparently Steve had knocked into it when he went careening through the air thanks to the super assassin to her right.

Darcy focused her thoughts on the little paperback book and tried to block out the rest of the world. She imagined the feel of its slightly wrinkled cover under her fingers, the softness of the edges of the pages, and the yellow colour of the paper that told her it was an old edition. The book twitched, and then it began to slide across the floor toward her and James.

He noticed the movement almost instantly, and when it began its journey toward them, he shifted slightly to the right, evading the book’s trajectory, but he didn’t leap up and attack for which Darcy was grateful. In hindsight, she probably should have warned him about what she was about to do. When the book stopped beside her, she picked it up and grinned at him.

“How about a little—” she glanced at the cover “—Tolkien?”

James didn’t say anything, but he also didn’t move any farther away from her. He just continued to watch her, his knees drawn up to his chest and his hands holding tightly to his legs, more like a frightened boy than a deadly assassin. Darcy spared Steve another glance, but he was just as non-responsive as his friend and therefore of little use. With a mental shrug and a silent applaud to Steve’s choice in literature, Darcy cracked open the book and began reading from the beginning.

“Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky, seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone, nine for Mortal Men doomed to die…” **

As she read, Steve sat down against the opposite wall, a few feet away from her and James but Darcy didn’t pay him a lot of attention. She focused on the book, one she hadn’t read in many years, and tried not to let the miniscule shifts of James’ body beside her distract her from the flow of her reading.

She read while James’ head began to droop forward, and his hands loosened their grip on his knees, and even then she continued to read until her voice grew hoarse and no amount of swallowing would relieve the dry itch. Her butt had gone numb several chapters before, and her eyes burned with tiredness, but no one had ended up bleeding, even if Steve had taken a bit of a tumble, so Darcy considered it a success.

“James,” she whispered softly, swallowing against the raspiness of her voice. He looked up at her, his face relaxed and unguarded for once. It struck her in that moment that, even with the massive scruff and the unwashed hair, the man was handsome. She smiled gently and closed the book. “We need to go to bed, James. We can’t stay out in the hall all night.”

He glanced around him, as if only just realising that he was sitting in the hallway of a hospital on the cold linoleum floor, and slowly he nodded. Darcy felt a rush of relief as he did, and she eased forward to her knees and then slowly to her feet. Her butt began to tingle as blood flow resumed, but she tried to ignore the sensation. She stepped back slightly, so as not to crowd him, and said,

“C’mon, James. I know that floor ain’t comfortable.”

He didn’t smile, but she didn’t expect him to. He did, however, pick himself up off the floor in a swift, smooth movement, as if he hadn’t just spent the past couple of hours sitting in one position. Without further prompt, he walked past her, giving her a wide berth, and slipped into his room as if it were no big deal. She watched as he turned to his bed and slipped into it, lying flat on his back, his eyes on the ceiling.

Darcy blinked, slightly unnerved by his actions. He seemed so…obedient. It was completely at odds with his earlier behaviour. She looked to Steve for guidance, but he wasn’t looking at her, or at James. Instead, he was staring hard at the floor in front of him, a deep frown between his brows.

“Steve?” Darcy took a tentative step toward him. He glanced up at her, and the hardness in his eyes startled her. She hadn’t seen the like of it since that day in her hospital room when he’d grabbed her. She was about to ask him what was wrong when he broke eye contact and stood up. She took an automatic step back, his bulk required a lot more room than the average person, and when he met her eyes again the hardness was gone, replaced with a familiar sadness. Without a word, he reached out, gently squeezed her shoulder, and then walked away.

Darcy watched him go; standing there in the middle of the hall, holding his book in her hands, she wondered what, exactly, she had just missed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Because I know I’ll hear about it from someone: Singapore noodles do not usually include this type of mushroom (at least not that I’ve seen) but call it artistic liberty. I wanted to make a reference to Thor’s penis. Because why the hell not.
> 
> ** Kudos to Tolkien. Not mine, etc, etc.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My profuse apologies to everyone who has been waiting on this. Thank you all for your well wishes in regards to my surgery. I can't tell you how lovely it was to get messages of encouragement and gratitude (for the story) instead of demands to get off my ass and update. Just lovely. Thank you a million times.
> 
> Also, I've been alerted to an error in my English to Turkish translations. Really, who's surprised? Thank you to the_sassassin for pointing out the error. 
> 
> I hope this appeases you, and I apologise for the shorter length but I'm hoping the drama of it all will make up for that!

The morning dawned grey and dreary looking, even from the heights of Stark Tower, which usually produced magnificent views of the city. Darcy stood in her little personal kitchen, an empty cereal bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other, as she stared out the window at all the wet. Some people found rain soothing, refreshing, rejuvenating even. Darcy found it flat out depressing. She wrinkled her nose at it, and turned to put her dishes in the sink to be dealt with later.

“JARVIS, can you tell me where Jean Grey is?” Darcy asked, rooting around the various dining chairs she never used for her comfy sweater. There were quite a few jackets and sweaters tossed carelessly over them, so it took her a bit.

“She may be found in the common lounge on level forty-three,” JARVIS replied.

Darcy nodded to herself, plucking the black hoodie she’d been hunting for out from under several others. “Can you also tell Jane that I’ll be in the lab later than usual today?”

“Of course.”

She pulled the hoodie over her head and grimaced when it caught on her ponytail. With the rain, having her hair tied back was a must. Her curls looked cute and stylish on dry days, on wet days she resembled Jane when she had plugged the modified Speedotron* into the wrong socket and it discharged.

She was rooting around under the chairs for her Chucks when JARVIS spoke again,

“Doctor Foster is most displeased with you.”

“She’ll get over it, I’m sure,” Darcy grunted, shoving her foot into one sneaker while balancing on her other foot.

“Perhaps you might try untying the laces,” JARVIS suggested.

“Nonsense,” she grunted again, pulling on the canvas until the heel of her foot slid into place. “I’ve got this.”

JARVIS made a sceptical sound, but he changed the subject all the same. “Doctor Foster is concerned about the timeline for her project.”

Darcy paused. “Yeah…that could be a problem. Tell her that we’ll talk about it later today?”

“You might speak to Doctor Foster about this yourself,” JARVIS said, his voice still deceptively pleasant. “A novel concept, I’m sure.”

“You are a true master of sass, JARVIS, but no can do,” Darcy told him, “she’d guilt me into going down to the lab right away.” Once both feet were securely in her shoes, she reached for her phone on the counter, tucking it into the pouch of her sweater.

“Might I ask where you’re going, Miss Darcy?”

“You can ask but I don’t—Oh, crap.” She spun on her heel and marched back into her room, heading straight for her over flowing bookshelf. “Where the hell is it?”

“I might be of assistance if you tell me what it is that you seek?”

She crouched down and started shifting around paperbacks and hardcovers alike. Darcy had more than one bookshelf, but the one in her bedroom consisted of her personal favourites, and it was overflowing. “The Fellowship of the Ring,” she told JARVIS.

“Second shelf from the top, three books in from the right hand side,” he said instantly.

Darcy blinked for a second and looked up before she slowly stood and followed his directions. Sure enough, her old paperback was there, wedged in between _Son of the Shadows_ and _Things Fall Apart**_. “How did you know where it was?” she asked. There was no rhyme or reason to her shelving; a fact that drove Jane up the wall.

“I scanned my memory banks for the last time your bookshelf had been accessed and referenced it against the day you unpacked your books,” JARVIS promptly replied.

“You have cameras in my _room_!?” Darcy’s voice jumped an octave on the last word. “Wait, stupid question, of _course_ you do, you’re watching me right now, aren’t you?”

“That is correct.”

“Where?” Darcy demanded, turning around and looking up at each of the corners of her room. There was no obvious CCTV camera in sight, naturally.

“The light fixtures, Miss Darcy.”

She turned and directed her glare appropriately. “Do you watch me in the bathroom too?”

“All non-relevant personal footage is immediately deleted.”

“That’s not an answer,” Darcy pointed out.

JARVIS hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “While I do not actively watch any of the Tower’s occupants during personal moments, recordings are made nonetheless. I review these recordings and either store or delete them as necessary.”

“So, yes is the answer,” Darcy said, sarcasm laden in her tone. “You’ve seen me naked.”

“If it makes you feel any better, Miss Darcy, I am programmed to understand human emotions, such a lust and desire, but I am not capable of feeling them myself,” JARVIS told her in his typical dispassionate voice. That didn’t really matter to Darcy, though.

She threw up her hands and made an ‘ick’ sound. “Okay, okay enough. I’m going to try to pretend that this conversation never happened,” she told him. “Ignorance is bliss,” she muttered to herself.

“As you wish, Miss Darcy. May I conclude, by your choice of reading material, that you are planning a visit with Sergeant Barnes?”

“You can conclude all you want,” Darcy retorted, heading for the door again, “just don’t tell Jane or Jean Grey where I am. You owe me that much for pervving on me all these months.”

“I do not—” JARVIS began but Darcy cut him off.

“Semantics, J!”

“I disagree,” he said, rather shortly, but fell silent nonetheless.

Darcy left her apartment and headed for the elevator, which opened before she had a chance to call for it, and started moving before she pressed any buttons. She supposed it might be a tad creepy, living in a place where your every move was not only recorded, but could also be anticipated. She knew that when the elevator stopped that it would be on the floor that James’ room was on.

“J, you promise to only use your powers for good, right?” she asked suddenly, breaking the silence of the elevator.

“I am programmed to understand morality and make decisions based on the modern concept of them, however, I may be overruled at any time by Sir.”

“That’s comforting,” Darcy said dryly.

“Sir may make questionable decisions regarding his personal life, however, he is what most would define as a ‘good man’ should they know him as I do.”

Darcy was a bit taken aback by the heartfelt tone. “I thought you said you didn’t experience human emotions?”

“You misunderstood, Miss Darcy. I do not experience human emotions such as lust, or physical desire. Similarly, I do not feel pain the way that you do.”

The elevator came to a stop, and the doors opened, but Darcy didn’t move from within. “What do you mean, you don’t feel pain the way I do?”

“I do not have a physical body, Miss Darcy.”

“But do you feel emotions?” she clarified. “Happiness, anger, frustration…love?”

“I am capable of understanding and experiencing most human emotions,” he said simply.

“You understand emotions,” Darcy repeated slowly, “but do you _feel_ them, JARVIS?”

Again, he hesitated for a moment before he answered. “Yes, Miss Darcy, I feel.”

It didn’t really make sense, but his admission made Darcy happy, and she reached out to touch the wall of the elevator with one hand. “I’m glad, JARVIS,” she told him earnestly. She glanced up at the lights in the elevator and smiled. “And thank you.”

“For what, Miss Darcy?”

She shrugged, a small smile playing about her lips. “Everything.”

“You are welcome, Miss Darcy.”

She patted the wall once, and then stepped out of the elevator, making her way down the hall to James’ room.

He was pacing the length of it when she arrived, looking like a caged animal waiting for its moment to strike, to make a bid for freedom, and Darcy hesitated before her hand touched the doorknob.

“Miss Darcy, I must advise you that Captain Rogers is not on the premises,” JARVIS said, the volume of his voice much lower than usual, perhaps in consideration of how James reacted to his voice previously.

“Well, promise me you’ll avenge me if he squashes me,” she said with false bravado.

“I am not an Avenger,” JARVIS reminded her.

“Yeah, well, sick Stark on him, then.” Without waiting for a reply, Darcy opened the door and stepped inside, half expecting to be flung aside as he made good his escape. Her heart fluttered in her chest and adrenaline surged through her veins as she took him in, standing stock-still and staring at her with unblinking eyes.

“James?”

His head tilted to the side slightly, but he gave no indication that he understood or recognised her. A shiver raced down her spine at the blank look in his blue eyes, and the almost inhuman way he seemed to contemplate her. There was a complete lack of emotion on his face, and yet she instinctively knew that she was being assessed. Every hair on her body stood on edge as an instinct long buried by evolution and the development of civilizations reared its head.

Swallowing against the fear in her gut, she raised the book in her hand. “I thought maybe we could keep reading?” she asked, her voice shaking slightly. “This is my copy, I gave Steve his copy ba—”

She didn’t see him move, not even a blur as his body crossed the room. The last time he’d gone on the attack she had been able to see it, to almost anticipate it in the way that his body had tensed, but there was no warning this time. One second he was staring at her, unnerving her on the deepest of levels, and the next he was there in front of her, and that metal hand of his was wrapped around her throat.

Darcy tried to scream, but all that came out was a strangled gasp as her throat was constricted and her last bit of air was sucked in.

Her hands came up automatically; short nails scrabbling against the cool, slick metal of his hand to no effect. She kicked out, adrenaline surging through her veins and making her fight like a wild animal caught in a trap. His reach wasn’t so long that he was kept at a safe distance from her, but though her feet landed blows on his shins and knees, it didn’t seem to affect him at all. He was like a robot; staring at her calmly, without a hint of emotion, as he choked the life out of her.

Her panic welled like a balloon inside of her, feeling as though it might burst and take her along with it. She stopped thrashing and reached out, trying desperately to touch his skin with her own. If only she could reach him, she was sure she could make him let go—she strained forward, fingers splayed in desperation, but they stopped a hairs breadth away from the skin of his cheek.

The panic burst, surging through and out of her in a wave.

Pain lanced through her head and had she the breath for screaming, she would have. It felt to her as if someone had stuck a knife in her ear and angled it upwards. It was sudden and intense, but blessedly brief. In its wake there was a moment of relief, as if a pressure had been relieved after a very long time.

It was short lived.

Her lungs burned, the need for new air becoming desperate, and she lashed out again, flailing and thrashing in his grip. Her panic welled in her again, swelling to the point of explosion—and then everything began to move.

The lamp on the bedside table rattled and jumped across the wooden surface on which it rested, as if an earthquake was sending it dancing towards the edge. It fell, shattering on the linoleum tiles and drawing James’ attention away from her. He turned his head slightly to look at it, before turning back to her, a very small frown between his brows.

The lamp was the catalyst. As one, everything around the room began moving. The unused hospital equipment jumped and fell over, the long poles clanging loudly on the floor. The bedside table shot forward, as if it had been ejected by a gun, and shattered against the wall next to her body, spraying them both with shards of wood. Still, he maintained his grip around her throat with that metal hand. Darcy’s vision began to blur and the world around the edges grew dark. The chair that she sometimes sat in threw itself at them but James kicked out at it lightning quick, sending it flying back into another wall.

She felt her knees give out, and the muscles in her body relax as the loss of oxygen finally took its toll. She had burnt through her adrenaline, and now she had nothing left. All of her weight rested on his hand around her throat, further choking her, but she couldn’t find the strength to get her feet under her. Her mind spun hazily, and she grasped desperately at her consciousness, trying to make sense of what was happening but it slipped through her fingers like sand.

Part of her realised that she was dying, but even that seemed like too difficult a concept to concentrate on.

She heard the screeching of metal against the floor dimly, as if a thick wall muffled it. Something slammed into James’ back and Darcy watched him pitch forward in slow motion. He reached out instinctively to brace himself against the wall, his hand hitting the plaster right beside her head. He grit his teeth and pushed back against something, but Darcy couldn’t see what it was. Her dimming focus was on the skin of his forearm, mere millimetres away from her. His metal hand restricted her movement as well as her airways, but she managed to turn, ever so slightly, and press her cheek to his skin.

Her consciousness exploded out of her body, racing through the skin-to-skin connection and their minds meshed together viciously. She felt his gasp as if it were her own, and then she was inside of his head. From his eyes she could see her face, skin red and eyes bulging horrifically, cheeks wet with tears that she couldn’t remember shedding. Rage bubbled up inside of her. She refused to lie down and die for this man. A wordless scream emerged and Darcy lashed out at him, her intentions violent. She didn’t know what she was doing, but it hardly mattered with how close their minds were. Her pain became his pain, her terror his terror.

He cried out, his grip slackening for a moment, and Darcy’s body automatically sucked in a gulping breath of fresh air without conscious thought but the relief was, again, short lived.

With a vicious snarl, James fixed his gaze on her blotchy, swollen face and inside his mind, he screamed back. Full of terror, anger, and renewed determination, he reapplied his superhuman strength to her neck, intent on squeezing the life out of her. Various faces flickered through his thoughts, all of them looking horrifyingly like Darcy—their lives dimming in their eyes with a metal hand around their throat.

Darcy’s determination faltered, her anger turning into a kind of sorrow she couldn’t put name to. She tried to press her desperation upon him, begging silently with her emotions. Faces and memories flashes through her mind and into his, none of them concrete enough to make sense of but all of them carrying an emotion. Things she hardly thought mattered mixed with those she desperately adored; the sensation of soft fur under her fingers, the sound of Jane’s chortling laughter, Eric’s quiet smiles after a long day, the scent of coffee lingering in the air, the tingle in her nose right before she sneezed, her mother’s soap and perfume scent, Steve’s brilliantly blue eyes, her childhood friend Eliza, DUM-E’s chirrup, the warmth of the sun on her face, the smell of her bed sheets, the sensation of sand underfoot, and the red of Natasha’s hair; everything that came together to make her _Darcy_. She pressed it all and more at him as her mind dimmed and slowed.

She could hear her blood pounding in her ears. The burn, that desperate need for air, was terrifying beyond comprehension and she wanted to scrabble and claw at him but her limbs wouldn’t obey any longer. She tried to pull herself away from it, withdrawing from her own pain; she fled to him in her mind. Darcy saw herself again from his eyes; tears streaking her cheeks, lips tinged blue, face splotchy from blood unable to circulate, and absolute terror in her eyes.

In that moment she wished that she’d never heard of James Barnes.

And then she fell.

The clamp around her throat released, but her legs were unable to hold her. She tumbled down, not registering the sharp pain as her unresisting knees hit the linoleum. The rest of her body followed, and she gasped shallowly, her lips against the floor. As if her lungs couldn’t remember how to breathe, her chest stuttered and hiccupped, trying and failing to inflate.

A hand grabbed her roughly, pulling her over on to her back. She looked up at his face, out of focus and dark around the edges still.

“Darcy.”

Her name, on his lips.

She knew then that she was well and truly dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * A Speedotron is basically a giant battery used for lighting equipment (usually in photo studios). I once watched a moron almost electrocute himself because he didn't discharge it before he unplugged his lights from it.
> 
> ** Both of which I recommend. Son of the Shadows is the second book in an Irish folklore fantasy series. Juliet Marillier is the author.  
> Things Fall Apart is a post-colonial novel centered around the changes wrought by European intervention in Africa. The author is Chinua Achebe.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, I AM SO SORRY. Life has been super, super busy and I know that's not an excuse, but it's the truth. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone for your well wishes in regards to my surgery!
> 
> Here it is, I hope you like it!

Darcy woke to warmth and comfort. She stretched luxuriously, the kind of stretch only afforded when waking without an alarm and nothing pressing to be done that day. The mattress was soft, and the duvet cozy, and since she couldn’t think of anything that needed her attention she decided that she would stay in bed a bit longer. Hell, maybe the whole day. She’d pull up a book on her phone, or find her iPod, or just go back to sleep. Really, the possibilities were endless.

The bed beside her shifted suddenly, and then there was a sharp poke in her side. Darcy shot up like a doll on a spring, the covers flying back from her face to reveal a pretty middle aged woman watching her over a pair of spectacles.

“Are you going to sleep all day or what?”

Darcy frowned. “ _Mum_? What are you doing in my bed?”

“ _Your_ bed?” her mother echoed, eyebrows going up. She closed the book in her hands and put it down on her legs. “Take a good look around you, little miss.”

Still frowning, Darcy did as she was told. The familiar lavender walls, dark wood furniture and tacky little angel ornaments were all hail marks of her mother’s room, and Darcy felt the unconscious tension bleed from her shoulders.

“Oh.” She felt a little foolish.

“Oh, indeed,” her mother said, a smile twitching up the corner of her mouth. “Now, are you ready to get up?”

Darcy shrugged and slid back down into the comforters, inhaling the clean scent of freshly laundered sheets, her mother’s perfume, and soap. It was a scent straight out of her childhood, and for once Darcy was glad that Clara Lewis was so very resistant to change.

“I suppose that answers my question,” her mother muttered, picking up her book once more. “It’s a good thing you don’t have school today.”

“Mmmhmm,” Darcy hummed her agreement and scooted closer to her mother’s warm body, snuggling up until her cheek was pressed to her mother’s hip.

“Good heavens, Darcy Lewis, what has gotten into you? First you crawl into my bed in the middle of the night and now you’re clinging like a monkey.” The covers were pulled back and a hand gently placed on her head, brushing the hair off of her face. “Are you all right?”

“M’fine,” Darcy mumbled, shrugging at the same time.

“You’re far too old to be snuggling with your mother.”

Darcy grunted and pressed her face closer to her mother, feeling the softness of her body. “Never too old,” she insisted.

If asked, Darcy would not have been able to give a reason, but she just couldn’t bear the thought of getting out of the bed. All she wanted to do was spend the day next to her mother, feeling her warmth and inhaling her scent.

“Darcy.” Her mother’s tone was no longer playful, but concerned, and Darcy tipped her head back to look into her face. Blue eyes, the same shape and shade as her own, stared back at her, a frown between the brow and creases in the corners.

“I’m fine,” Darcy told her. “I promise. I just want to stay here, okay?”

Her mother didn’t answer immediately. She watched her daughter with a keenness that only the parent of a mutant child could have, her sharp eyes roving over Darcy’s face, looking for a lie. But Darcy had nothing to hide from her mother, she wasn’t sneaking out of the house, or stealing spoonfuls of Nutella from the jar, so she stared back and waited for her mother to see the truth of her words.

“Okay, then,” her mother finally said, fingers resuming their stroking in Darcy’s thick hair. “But we can’t lay in bed all day, you know.”

Darcy turned and pressed her face against her mother again. “No rules against it.”

“Common decency forbids it, Darcy Lewis.”

Darcy smiled, closing her eyes. “Pooey.”

Fingers tapped gently on her head. “Don’t sass your mother.”

Her smile widened as she listened to her mother pick up her book again and search for her page. The gentle scrape of paper against paper was another childhood familiarity. Her mother always had books lying around, though Darcy had once learned the heard way that not all of them were child appropriate.

“Remember that time I found one of your smut books?”

Her mother gasped, and the book came down sharply on Darcy’s head. “I do not read _smut_!”

“Ow! That’s child abuse!” Darcy said laughingly, turning to look up at her unimpressed mother.

“It’s a soft cover.” She held the book aloft, one finger marking her place.

“Still abuse,” Darcy pointed out, eyes zeroing in on the cover. “And that’s smut!” She pointed at the picture of the woman on the cover, her breasts barely contained while being bent over the arm of a handsome man in a peasant shirt.

“It’s _romance_ ,” her mother insisted. “You’re too young to know the difference.”

“Is there sex in it?”

She watched with glee as her mother’s cheeks pinked ever so slightly. “Perhaps,” was the grudging reply.

Darcy grinned gleefully. “Then it’s _smut_!”

Her mother slapped her with the book again, this time on the shoulder. “It is not!”

“Sure, sure,” Darcy conceded, though her grin belied her words and her mother knew it. With a sigh, she opened her book again and proceeded to ignore her daughter.

Darcy wrapped her arm around her mother’s waist and closed her eyes. It felt like a long, long time since they had spent any quality time together. Without a father in her life, and a big ol’ secret that she couldn’t really share with anyone, her mother was her closest confidant. Even when Darcy was pissed off at her, as daughters are wont to be with their mothers, Clara Lewis was always the port that Darcy sought in a storm.

“Darcy.”

“Mmm?”

“Darcy, open your eyes.”

It wasn’t her mother’s voice anymore. Alarm shot through her and her eyes snapped open. The first thing she saw was a pair of legs encased in black trousers next to her mother’s bed. Darcy pushed herself upright in a flash, looking up into the kindly face of a bald, white man.

“What the fuck are you doing here!?” she shrieked.

“Calm yourself, Darcy, I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, his voice patient and soft.

“Calm myself?!” she echoed, her voice taking on a hysterical edge. She drew herself up to her knees, opened her mouth to start screaming for help, when she caught sight of her mother out of the corner of her eyes.

Clara Lewis continued to read calmly, her eyes flickering over the words on the paper, her fingers slowly turning the page as she finished with it.

“I…I…”

Darcy stared at her mother, uncomprehending. There was no way her mother couldn’t have heard, or seen, the man in her room, and yet she showed no signs of being aware.

“It’s time to wake up now, Darcy,” the man told her.

She looked back at him, her mouth slightly parted in shock. He watched her with calm, grey-green eyes, and an air of infinite patience.

“What’s happening?” she whispered, fear tingeing her words.

“You’ve had a traumatic experience,” he explained. “Your mind is trying to compensate for that.”

Darcy frowned at him. “That’s not an answer. What kind of traumatic experience?”

“See for yourself.” He gestured with one hand towards her mother’s old television, a ‘boob tube’ she called it. It sat on the chest of drawers opposite her mother’s bed, and as Darcy looked toward it, it flickered to life.

On the screen, she watched herself as a man with a metal arm grabbed her by the throat, holding her up and pinning her body against a wall.

“Is that…?”

“Yes.” She looked up at the man, but he was watching the TV screen. “That’s you.”

Darcy watched in horrified fascination as her face turned an alarming shade of red, and the furniture in the room began to rattle as if an earthquake had struck. TV Darcy reached out feebly, trying to make contact with the man’s skin, but her arms were much shorter than his and her fingertips scrabbled uselessly against his shirt.

“Am I dead?” She whispered the words, not sure if she wanted an answer. Part of her wanted to look away, sure that she was watching her own death, but the other part—the greater part—was sickly fascinated.

“No.”

“No?” That broke her concentration on the TV. She looked to the man, meeting his eyes. “Are you sure? Because that looks pretty much like dying.”

“Watch,” he instructed, gesturing once again to the TV.

Darcy obeyed. The furniture in the room continued to rattle until it began to slide across the floor, seemingly of its own volition. She knew better, of course. A side table smashed up against a wall, splintering into a dozen pieces and Darcy was mildly impressed with her TV self. She’d never been able to get things to move with such speed and force before. Of course, dying could have something to do with that. She was just about to open her mouth again when the bed launched itself across the room.

“Damn.”

The bald man made a non-committal noise, a quiet hum in the back of his throat as they watched. The man with the metal arm dropped her TV self and Darcy heard her body make a horrible wheezing sound that stuttered and choked.

She watched in shock as the man looked down at her, and then dropped to his knees, reaching out to roll her over. One hand, his flesh and bone one, went to her neck but it wasn’t to finish the job. He pressed two fingers against her jugular, checking for a pulse.

“Darcy.”

Her name left his lips on a gust of breath, almost too quiet to hear, but she felt it in her gut. She brought one hand up to cradle her throat. Her chest felt tight, as if there were too much air in her lungs, and her heart began to pound.

The man looked around him, his eyes more than a little wild.

“HEL—”

His voice was cut off in a crash. Plaster flew everywhere, kicking up a cloud of dust but her view was not diminished. She could clearly see a red and gold robot burst through the wall and drop kick the man kneeling next to her body as if he were nothing more than an old pigskin.

“Tony Stark,” the bald man beside her explained.

“I think I knew that,” Darcy murmured, watching as the metal armed man’s head snapped back. His body followed, almost as an after thought, and he crashed into the overturned bed. Stark—Iron Man, she told herself—watched him for a second, waiting for him to get up, before he turned away from the metal armed man and scooped her limp body into his own metal arms.

His faceplate flipped back, revealing panicked features. “JARVIS!” he screamed.

“Medical 2, sir. Surgery on standby,” came the reply. Darcy frowned at the sound of it. It wasn’t as cool and polished as she’d been expecting.

“You are well liked, Darcy Lewis,” the man told her, turning away from the TV. The screen flickered and died as he did. “Tony Stark is a man of action, and those actions tend to speak louder than his words ever could.”

“You’re telling me that Tony Stark cares about me?” she asked, confused.

He nodded. “More than he will probably ever admit.”

“I…I’m confused,” she admitted. “In more ways than one.”

The man smiled. “That’s quite all right. Understandable after all that has occurred.”

“That all happened?” Darcy asked, gesturing at the dark TV.

“It did,” he agreed. “Which is why you must wake up. There are many people anxiously awaiting to see you return to yourself.”

“Return?”

“Hiding in your own mind is a dangerous habit to indulge in,” he told her.

Darcy stared at him blankly for a moment. “You’re not helping with the whole confusion bit.”

He smiled again, wider this time, and far more genuine. “I shall explain, as soon as you wake.” Holding out his hand to her, palm up, he asked, “Will you come with me, Darcy?”

She hesitated instinctively. Glancing back at her mother, still calmly reading, Darcy reached out to touch her arm. “Go where?”

“She’s not real, Darcy.” His voice was kind, but there was pity in it that she didn’t like. “Not anymore.”

Inexplicably, tears rapidly welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, hot and wet. She didn’t feel sad, exactly, but there was the echo of a hollow ache, right behind her breastbone, making her feel like she couldn’t quite catch her breath.

“Of course she’s real,” she whispered, more to herself than to him, her hand still on her mother’s forearm. She could feel the warmth and life just beneath her mother’s skin, a sure sign of her _realness_.

“You know better, Darcy.”

His hand came down on her shoulder, and she shifted away from it. It felt wrong, a signifier of terrible things to come. Somehow, she knew that her time with her mother was coming to an end, and she wasn’t ready.

“I don’t want to.” Her words came out hoarse and choked.

“I know.”

He reached out again, gripping her shoulder firmly. “I’m sorry,” he told her, and then he yanked her backwards.

It was like falling in a dream, total Inception style. One second she was staring longingly at her mother’s face, and the next it felt like the rug was being pulled out from under her. Her consciousness slammed into her body with the grace of a derailed freight train; her eyes flew open and every muscle in her body twitched as reality flooded in—ugly white ceilings, bland coloured walls, and the fire of a million fucking suns in her throat.

She gasped, and the fire spread down her throat. Panic rose and she reached out blindly. A hand grasped her arm and a familiar face loomed into view.

“Relax, Darcy, relax,” Jane crooned. “Breathe slowly.”

But she couldn’t, she didn’t know how. The panic kicked into overdrive and memories of choking swam up from her consciousness, she felt her throat close up and that wild, desperate instinct for survival made her thrash in the bed, clawing at the sheets and at her own throat.

“NO! Darcy!” Jane cried, reaching for her bare hands. Jane’s emotions flooded into Darcy, bringing even more panic, and for a split second Darcy thought that she wouldn’t be able to handle it, that her heart just might stop.

Another hand touched her. Cool and smooth, it pressed against her forehead, and from it seeped a blessed calmness that started in her scalp, making her skin tingle, and spread down throughout her body until every muscle relaxed and she went limp.

Slowly, Darcy turned her head towards the owner of that hand. The bald man from her dream sat beside her bed, looking exactly how he had in her head, only then she had been sitting in her mother’s bed instead of a hospital one.

It was as if she’d lost her mother all over again. Grief welled up and crashed over her in a great wave. For the briefest moment she had been blissfully ignorant of her mother’s fate and in that respite the memories, which had been dulled by time, were sharpened by a dream so realistic she would have sworn it was real.

Great wracking sobs wrenched their way out of her chest, setting her throat on fire again, but Darcy hardly noticed the physical pain. She closed her eyes against the memories, both old and new, and just as they had done in her dream, hot tears spilled down her cheeks.

_I can’t. I’m not strong enough._

The hand on her head moved, fingers brushing against her forehead, and in her mind his voice echoed. _You are stronger than you realise._

“Get out of my head,” she rasped, shaking her head in both a denial and an attempt to dislodge his touch.

“Darcy, don’t try to speak,” Jane urged her in soft tones. “Your throat is damaged. They had to do surgery to repair your trachea.”

Darcy didn’t really give a shit, not in that moment. “Go away,” she rasped.

“Darce—”

“I _said_ —”

Her voice cut off as pain lanced through her throat and she began to cough, further inflaming her throat. The man beside her reached out and touched her arm. As before, cool calmness radiated from him. Her muscles relaxed and the pain in her throat melted away, along with the urge to cough. Part of her wanted to know how he did it, another wanted to yell at him to leave her alone, but mostly she didn’t care enough to do either.

Wearily, she rolled over, dislodging his hand. She closed her eyes against Jane’s pale, worried face. She couldn’t close her ears, though, and the sound of Jane’s rapid breathing—a sure sign that she was trying not to cry—permeated her self-absorbed pain. Guilt crept in, but she kept her eyes squeezed shut until, some minutes later, Jane quietly excused herself.

Darcy remained where she was, letting the silence of the room press in on her. She should be enjoying the quiet, the peace that she had asked for, but instead she felt like a piece of shit, physically and emotionally. Jane hadn’t deserved such treatment, Darcy knew that, but she’d wanted so _badly_ to be alone. She wished she could roll over and scream into her pillow, to let it out in some physical way, but that just wasn’t an option at the moment.

With a sigh, Darcy flopped over onto her back. That’s when she spotted the bald man from her dream again, still sitting beside her.

“What part of—” she began in her raspy voice, but halted when he held up his hand.

_You will do damage to your throat if you continue to speak._

Darcy frowned at him, not bothering to hide her irritation, but replied mentally nonetheless.

_Who are you? What are you doing here? And what part of ‘go away’ escaped your notice? Better yet, what the hell were you doing in my dream?_

His eyebrows went up slightly, though Darcy couldn’t tell if it was because of the number of questions she threw at him, or the tone in which she did it. Probably the latter.

_I am Professor Xavier. I am here because you asked for my help._

Darcy’s thoughts ground to a screeching halt and for a moment, she forgot her grief as well. Sitting up, she stared at the man beside her, only just realising that he sat because he had to. Her eyes raked over the sleek, almost alien looking chair and wondered why he hadn’t had that in her dream.

 _On the mental plane I am not bound by reality_ , he answered her unspoken question.

 _Isn’t there some kind of etiquette amongst mutants with telepathic powers?_ Darcy glared at him. _You know, no rooting around in someone else’s head without a very good reason?_

He chuckled, both aloud and in her head, making a strange sort of echo in her mind. _There is, and I am observing it._ His smile widened, making the lines around his eyes crinkle. _In order to communicate with you I must maintain a very small connection to your consciousness, but I promise you that I am not ‘rooting around’._

_How do I know you’re telling the truth?_

He shrugged one shoulder. It was an inelegant gesture on an elegant looking man. _Perhaps, with training, you will be able to taste a lie but that would require a skin-to-skin connection for you._

_So I’m just supposed to trust you?_

_Trust is earned, not given, but you did call for me, and I am here now._

_Yeah,_ Darcy sounded bitter even in her head, _now that I’ve been nearly throttled to death by the Winter Soldier._ Now _you’re here._

_That was a regrettable encounter, and I would have done everything in my power to stop it, but your Soldier is difficult to predict. His mind is not his own most of the time. If it counts for anything, his distress at the sight of what he had done was genuine. He was about to call for help when Mr. Stark arrived._

Darcy remembered watching that scene unfold on the television in her mother’s room, but she had forgotten about it in the wake of realising that her mother was still very much dead. _That happened?_

 _It did_. He nodded once. _Thankfully, the part of him that remains James Barnes, took the fore in his mind before he did any permanent damage to your brain._

 _How can you know that?_ Darcy asked.

 _I visited him while you were in surgery_. His chair swivelled slightly and he gestured towards one wall. _He is not far from you, though he is restrained and under guard._

_Is he okay_

_He is well enough_. He smiled widely at her, his blue eyes practically disappearing in the crinkles. _Sedated for now, but physically healthy._

 _Why do you look so pleased about that?_ Darcy asked, eyeing him warily.

The Professor let out a bark of a laugh, startling Darcy after the silence in the room. _I am merely pleased to hear you ask after him. It would be difficult for you to help him if you bear him ill will for something beyond his control._

 _Whoa, whoa, whoa_. Darcy held up both hands. _You expect me to go back in a room with him and try to help him after that?_

_If not you, then who?_

Darcy stared at him, giving him the up and down. He shook his head, a small smile still gracing the corners of his mouth.

 _But it’s_ you _that he trust, Darcy._

That earned him another look; one that said she thought he was straight up certifiable and judging by the light in his eyes, he knew just exactly how crazy she thought him.

 _He tried to_ kill me _._

Professor Xavier nodded his head slowly, his face calm and serene.

_Yes, but in the end, he also tried to save you._


	11. Chapter 11

It was over a week, almost two in fact, before Darcy was let out of the hospital wing of Stark Tower. She had visitors aplenty, including Jane to whom she made her apologies for being an unmitigated brat. Jane had been forgiving, but had wanted to know why Darcy had acted so out of character. It was her right to ask, and Darcy told her of the dream she’d had, the one that had seemed so real it was like losing her mother all over again. Jane, being an orphan, had understood completely* 

Surprisingly, she saw little of Professor Xavier. Considering his powers, she was sure that he knew she was none too keen on speaking with him. Jane told her that he was in and out of the Tower, conducting business with his X-Men in the area, and liaising between them and some of the Avengers for purposes unknown. Jane’s curiosity and theorizing about what could possibly be going on was unsurprising—it was what had driven her to unravel the mysteries of the stars, and what kept her working at that seemingly impossible task. Darcy smiled and elaborated on those theories, making them crazier and more implausible, but truly she had no interest in them. She didn’t want to know what Professor Xavier was doing with his X-Men and the Avengers. He struck her as the kind of man whose secrets came with a heavy price and she had no intention of getting involved with that.

To that end, her visit with Steve did not go well. He had been off on a short mission with the Widow when the shit hit the proverbial fan and, to his credit, he’d come to see her immediately. He was still wearing his filthy and torn uniform when he waltzed into her hospital room like he owned the damn thing, startling her and Jane both.

“Darcy!” He crossed the room in a mere two steps and stood beside her bed, fists clenched in his fingerless gloves. “What were you _thinking_?”

Darcy shrugged pathetically. She wasn’t particularly in the mood for a lecture; she’d already gotten one from Stark. Jane took a quick look between the two of them and stood up.

“I’ll just give you two a moment,” she murmured awkwardly, scooting around the Captain. She shot an apologetic look and a shrug at Darcy from behind his back, but left nonetheless.

Steve, thankfully, waited until Jane had closed the door before he started to rant. It was basically the same gist as Stark’s, but with a lot less drama and a lot more guilt. Darcy let him have at it, since it seemed like he needed to say it a lot more than she needed to hear it. He paced around her bed, extolling the endless bounds of her thoughtlessness and disregard for her own safety, but he didn’t really seem to be paying much attention to her and she wondered just where he had been and what had caused the singed tear right over the white star on his chest.

When he was done he just looked at her, those earnest blue eyes piercing right through her and Darcy picked up her little whiteboard and marker that Stark had so thoughtfully provided her with.

 _I’m sorry for scaring you_.

Steve deflated at that, literally and emotionally. His enormous shoulders hunched in on himself and he folded his overgrown body into the chair that Jane had vacated, making it suddenly look childlike.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Darcy,” he told her softly.

She scrubbed out the words with the side of her hand and wrote again.

_I’m glad you’re okay too. What happened to you?_

He looked down at himself and sighed, fingers plucking restlessly at a cut in the thigh of his uniform. “Trying to root out all the HYDRA bases we can find. Looking for information on what they did to Buck.” His voice took on that now familiar tone that always seemed to accompany mentions of his friend.

_Any luck?_

He shook his head silently, his eyes intent on the side of her mattress. He looked as if he were trying to divine the secrets of the universe from the material but Darcy was beginning to get the hang of interpreting the moods of Steve and she let him mull his thoughts over while she adjusted her pillows and slunk down in the bed, getting ready for a nap.

“What did he do to you, Darcy?”

She glanced up at him from her blankets with surprise. That hadn’t been what she was expecting, based on the severity of his frown she thought he’d come out with something a lot more difficult to answer. She picked up her whiteboard but then hesitated. She couldn’t really tell him the details that she knew he’d want to know in such a small space, but she could tell him if she simply took his hand. Darcy glanced at his fingers, debating for another second, and then she put the dry erase marker to the white board and wrote four words.

_Do you trust me?_

Holding it up to him, she studied his face. A small frown creased his brow for a second as he read her loopy scrawl, and then he glanced up at her face.

“Yes.”

Darcy tossed the whiteboard down on her bed and pulled back the blankets so that she could sit on the edge of the bed with her feet dangling. She held out both of her hands to him, palms up, and waited for him to realise what she was offering.

It didn’t take him long. His face registered surprise for a second, and then he was pulling off the fingerless gloves that he wore, throwing them on her nightstand. He reached out to touch her hands but hesitated at the last second, looking up at her with a little apprehension.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

She smiled and gently wrapped her fingers around his hand in a loose hold. Instantly, his emotions and thoughts rushed at her but she was better prepared for it this time and they didn’t bowl her over.

_I’m sure, Steve._

She heard his gasp and felt his surprise, felt the way his chest hitched with the sharp indrawn breath, and the wonder that permeated his mind. His eyes drifted closed and she felt him cautiously reach out to her with conscious thought.

_Darcy?_

_Yes_. She squeezed his hands in hers and let her own eyes close so as to better focus. _This is easier for me_. The one-way conversation she’d had with her surgeon filtered through her mind. _I’m not supposed to talk yet._

Sorrow and guilt flooded her but they were Steve’s emotions, and just like his super-strength body, it seemed like his emotions came in super-soldier doses. She gasped and let go of his hands as the feelings not her own overwhelmed her precarious mental walls. Her eyes flew open and she found herself looking into Steve’s startled face.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Her heart beat quickly in her chest and for a moment her breath felt trapped in her chest, but she forced herself to breathe out slowly, and then back in at the same pace, forcibly slowing down her involuntary reaction. When she was sure, she nodded and carefully held out her hands once more.

Steve eyed them but didn’t reach out to touch. “I don’t know, Darcy. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Darcy picked up her whiteboard and scrawled.

_It will take too long to explain using this thing, and it’s not big enough anyway._

Her words got progressively smaller and cramped at the end, perfectly exemplifying her point she thought. She raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to make a decision.

“You’re sure?” he asked again.

Darcy put down the whiteboard and held out both hands again in answer.

Steve, to his credit, didn’t hesitate again. The separation between their minds blurred the moment that their skin touched, but Darcy was ready again and pulled herself back enough to stop their thoughts from melding together.

 _Are you okay_? She asked him.

She was pretty sure that he was just fine. His emotions—anticipation, excitement, curiosity—bumped up against her mind after all, but she wanted to hear his confirmation.

 _I am_ , he smiled up at her.

 _Okay, I’m going to try to show you now_.

She closed her eyes and linked her fingers through his, feeling the callouses that spoke of a life lived using those hands, and focused her mind on her memories of that day.

Though she hadn’t really mentioned it to anyone, those memories horrified her. Jane had asked her about it, letting Darcy know that she was there for talking should she wish, but Darcy hadn’t wanted to relive it. At least not while she was awake, when she was asleep she had no choice in the matter. She had woken up in a cold sweat, reliving it, more than once. When she was awake and lucid, she knew that it was a normal reaction to a traumatic experience. Professor Xavier had been right when he’d labelled it as such. Darcy knew that she was safe now, that he was contained and as long as she stayed away from him, she would be fine. But in the middle of the night when her mind was vulnerable it conjured up exaggerated versions of that day, versions where he had never let go of her neck, where he had casually snapped it like a twig and left her lying in a crumpled heap against the wall.

She pushed that all aside the moment she took Steve’s hand. While she was willing to share the facts, her feelings on the matter were private, and she hoped that she could keep them that way despite opening her mind to him. Tracing her mind back to that day, she focused on the physical things she remembered, how the door handle felt under her hand, and the smell of the cleaning agent used in the halls.

_“James?”_

_He tilted his head at her, watching her like a bird of prey eyes its next meal and the hair on the back of her neck stood up_

_“I thought maybe we could keep reading? This is my copy. I gave Steve his copy ba—”_

_Her words cut off as he moved across the room. One second he was there, staring at her, the next he was in front of her, his hand clasped around her throat._

Darcy felt Steve’s hand tighten around her own and for a second it distracted her, but she pushed forward, playing out her assault for him like a movie. Her heart rate picked up as she relived the terrifying sensation of not being able to catch her breath, of the burning in her chest as her lungs ached for fresh oxygen. She rushed through it, she knew, because the actual altercation had taken a good ten minutes or more but Darcy found herself releasing Steve’s hands with a shaky breath in half that time. She opened her eyes to see Steve looking at her with the shock and guilt that she had felt in his mind.

“I’m so sorry he did that to you,” he said earnestly, placing his big, warm hand on her knee and giving it a squeeze. “I’m so, so, sorry.”

Darcy grabbed her white board, erasing the words with the side of her hand again.

 _Not your fault_ , she wrote. _I should have listened to JARVIS. He warned me not to go in._

Steve nodded, running both hands through his hair absently, making the short blond strands stick up every which way. It’d be cute if it wasn’t for the forlorn look on his face, Darcy thought.

“JARVIS was right, you shouldn’t have been in there alone, or at least not while I was out of the building.” He looked up at her, his face dead serious. “I want your promise that you won’t go near Bucky without me there, at least until he’s better.”

Darcy huffed softly and scribbled on her board again.

_Dude. I’m not going within 10 feet of him ever again. No worries on that front._

Steve frowned at the whiteboard as she turned it around for him to read, his eyes darting up to hers in confusion.

“What do you mean you’re never going near him again?” he asked.

Darcy stared at him as if he’d just grown a third eye above his nose. She scribbled again, her writing getting sloppier in her rush.

_Exactly what I said. I never want to see him again, let alone be in the same room._

Steve looked down at his hands hanging loosely between his knees and was silent for a long moment before he quietly said, “I thought you were going to help him, Darcy.”

Darcy was flabbergasted and her mouth dropped open a little as she stared at the top of his head. Furiously, she scrambled for her whiteboard marker and pen.

_He tried to KILL ME, Steve!!!!_

She had to kick him in the shin to get him to look up. His mouth twisted into a grimace but he wouldn’t meet her eye as he spoke.

“Yeah, I know, Darcy. But that’s not him, that’s not who Bucky is. He just…he needs help. The help that _you_ can give him.”

Darcy felt her heart begin to pound heavily in her chest as disbelief chased thoughts through her mind. It had never occurred to her that Steve would choose James’ recovery over her well-being, but even as the thought popped into her head she cursed herself for being stupid. Having Professor Xavier encourage her to continue trying to help James was one thing, he wasn’t the man who was supposed to be her friend, he had only come to the Tower with the intention of helping her do exactly that but Steve was an entirely different story. She had been stupid to think that his concern for her would be on the same level as his concern for James, that he wouldn’t expect her to sacrifice herself for his friend. Of _course_ he would. This was James Buchannan Barnes they were talking about, Steve Rogers’ lifelong friend and, some argued, the reason why Captain America put that plane in the Atlantic with himself still in it. Hindsight was 20/20, and she really should have known better, but that didn’t stop the hurt that spread through her body like a physical blow. She felt the lump build in the back of her throat, and the burn of tears in her eyes, but she swallowed both back furiously.

“I’m not going to set myself on fire so that he can stay fucking warm**,” she rasped, her throat feeling like sandpaper as she spoke. Steve’s head shot up at the sound of her abused voice. He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off by holding up her hand. “I think you should leave.”

“Darcy, I don’t want to see you hurt! I’d be there to protect—”

“ _Out_!” Darcy said, more forcefully than before. Her throat was set aflame with the effort, but she was too angry to care much about it at the moment. She didn’t have the patience to write the words that were brimming at the tip of her tongue, waiting to spill over and attack him. She wanted to scream at him, truly, but that would be showing him just how much his disregard for her hurt and if there’s one thing she had learned as a mutant, it was self-preservation in all its forms.

“Darcy, please—”

He reached for her leg again, and she lashed out automatically, kicking his hand away. Clearly, he wouldn’t leave, so she would. She swung her legs over and scooted out of the bed. Her socked feet hit the linoleum floors just as his chair scraped against the tiles as he stood up.

“Darcy! _Wait a second_!”

She whirled around to face him, her tears barely held in check by her pride, and jabbed a finger in his direction.

“I am not some dispensable commodity!” She tried to yell, but her voice came out hoarse and cracked but that didn’t deter her. “Go fuck yourself, Steve.”

He looked pained, as if her words had wounded him somehow, but she didn’t give a rat’s ass about _his_ feelings. She turned back for the door and heard him make a move to stop her, “Darcy, _please_ , I didn’t mean—”, but she didn’t stop. Whipping open the door, she threw herself out of the room, half expecting to feel his hand on her arm, pulling her back. Instead, the door slammed shut behind her with so much force it rattled the frame.

Darcy paused and looked back over her shoulder. She heard a thump from the other side, and then the handle jiggled, but it didn’t open.

“Darcy! Darcy open the door! I didn’t mean it like that!” She could hear Steve’s muffled voice from the other side. “JARVIS! Unlock the door!”

“The door is not locked, Captain. I cannot open it for you.”

Darcy looked down at her hands for a second and then back up at the door. She hadn’t consciously done anything, but it was too big of a coincidence to dismiss. She had wanted Steve to leave her alone, so she left the room he was in, but when he went to follow her he got locked inside instead. She’d read once that the human brain seeks to protect itself, which is why people who experience traumatic events often can’t recall them in detail, because the mind blocks it out for its own safety.

Slowly, Darcy smiled at the door as Steve continued to bang on it. She knew it was a smug, self-satisfied smile, without having to look in a mirror.

 _Go fuck yourself_ , she thought to the man on the other side of that door, uncaring that he couldn’t actually hear her.

Turning on her heel, she walked down the hall and made her way to the elevators. He’d find a way out eventually, she was sure, but she had no intentions of being anywhere near when he did.

As Darcy punched the call button on the elevators, she considered retuning to her apartment in the Tower, but the thought of sitting around alone wasn’t exactly appealing and would probably lead to crying which was to be avoided at all costs. She had a nervous kind of energy flitting through her veins and, usually, when that occurred she would find something to tinker with. She’d head to the lab, maybe get some work done on Jane’s spectrometer, the thing she had been ignoring since one James Barnes came barrelling into her life.

“Miss? May I help you with something?

Darcy turned to find a middle-aged man in scrubs with the SI logo over the breast pocket and a stethoscope around his neck. A nurse, if she were any judge.

“No,” Darcy whispered, her voice still coming out hoarse and raspy like a lifelong chain smoker.

He gave her a practices smile and said, “Miss, you’re supposed to be in your room.”

Darcy thought about it for a second, half a second really, and then shook her head before turning back around to wait for the elevator. She was really fucking tired of doing what everyone else around the Tower wanted her to do. Unfortunately for her, the nurse was undeterred.

“Miss, I’m going to have to insist that you come with me.” He reached out and grasped her upper arm firmly, giving her a little tug.

Anger shot through her at his touch. Did he know _nothing_ about her? Had he missed the mutant memo? And what part of ‘no’ didn’t he understand? She was a patient of the medical ward, yes, but she still had her goddamn autonomy.

“Please, just come with—”

The anger built, boiling through her veins, making her skin feel tight and warm. She yanked her arm out of his grip and he sighed, giving her a look as if she were a petulant child. Maybe she was, but what did children do? They acted out.

“I said _no_ ,” she told him holding her hand up, palm out. It was an instinctual gesture, but just as it had done with Steve, her power manifested to aid her in her goals. The nurse stumbled backwards as if he had been shoved, his arms flailing at his sides to keep his balance. Back, and back, and back he went until there was several feet between them and a look of utter astonishment, and perhaps a touch of fear, on his face.

Behind her, the elevator dinged and Darcy turned neatly on her heel. As the doors closed behind her she reached out and touched the wall.

“Thanks, JARVIS.”

It was too good of a dramatic exit to not be executed by the AI, and while she appreciated the flair, she appreciated the rescue more.

“Any time, Miss Darcy,” he answered, his posh British voice giving nothing away. “Please look to your right and select a floor for your destination.”

The wall to her right lit up with softly glowing white numbers and letters and Darcy felt her volatile emotions waver. Not all of the elevators in the Tower had buttons. The ones most likely to be used by the public did, but the ones exclusively for the residents were usually controlled by speaking to JARVIS. He was giving her buttons so that she didn’t have to speak as much, and she was touched.

Her eyes watered up as she reached out and lightly touched a button, indicating that she’d like to go to Jane’s lab. The elevator began moving at once and Darcy swiped quickly at her leaky eyes, blinking furiously to attempt to stem the flow. If she started, she probably wouldn’t stop for a while. And Jane would surely notice if she walked into the room with a splotchy face.

“If it is your work that you seek, Miss Darcy, I must tell you that the spectrometer has been taken to Sir’s lab for further adjustments. Do you wish to continue to Doctor Foster’s lab?”

Darcy thought about it for a minute. If she went to Jane’s lab without anything to work on, she’d be aimless and bored, and more liable to think about how much she’d like to punch Rogers in the throat. And then cry about it. If she went to Stark’s lab, she’d have work to do and Stark probably wouldn’t engage in conversation like Jane might—if she wasn’t buried in her own work, that is.

She shook her head, and reached out to press the button for Stark’s lab instead.

“As you wish, Miss Darcy.”

The trip was short, thank goodness because JARVIS didn’t seem inclined to talk and Darcy was all up in her own head. The doors opened with a soft chime and Darcy found herself looking through the glass wall that made up the entrance to Stark’s lab. She strode forward and opened up the door, surprised not to hear music playing, but two male voices instead.

“—waiting to hear about Budapest.”

“And you’ll just keep on waiting, Stark.”

Walking softly, Darcy wove her way through the mess of Stark’s lab, dodging large pieces of half-built equipment, until she could see the speakers. Stark stood next to the spectrometer, it kind of took up most of the room now—and she had to wonder just how the hell they moved it from one lab to another, and how they were going to move it _back_ later—wiping his hands off on a dirty rag. A few feet away was Agent Barton, perched comfortably on top of one of Stark’s tall work tables, one knee drawn up to his chest.

“I bet it’s a sex thing, isn’t it? It’s totally a sex thing,” Stark said.

“The world doesn’t revolve ‘round sex,” Barton replied, sounding very much put upon.

“It doesn’t?”

Darcy snorted indelicately, making both of the men look up. She experienced an uncomfortable moment of scrutiny with the two of them clearly examining her with keen eyes. Stark’s lingered on her face, while Barton’s kept straying back to her throat.

“Well, you look less shitty than the last time I saw you,” Stark told her cheerfully, as if it were a compliment. It made Darcy smile, one side of her mouth ticking up.

“Gee, _thanks_ ,” she rasped.

Stark winced. “You sound like ass, though.”

“What exactly does ass sound like?” she asked, trying not to raise her voice too much.

He gestured at her with his dirty rag. “Exactly like that.”

This time it was Barton who snorted, “You’re a class act, Stark.”

“You’d be surprised how many times I’ve been told that.”

“No. No, I probably wouldn’t be,” Barton countered dryly, winking at Darcy. She smiled and made her way closer to them.

“May I sit?” She pointed at the counter Barton was perched upon.

“By all means,” he replied, shoving bits and pieces of Stark’s toys and equipment out of the way with one hand. She watched a greasy ball bearing fall to the floor with a thud.

“God dammit, Barton! Do I come to your home and throw shit?”

“Since we both live here and you regularly throw shit, I’m gonna go with yes.”

Darcy chuckled dryly as she hauled herself up beside the agent, far enough away to keep her hands from brushing up against his bare arms, but not so far as to feel unfriendly. Coming down to Stark’s shop was a good idea, she decided. She could talk shit with Barton and Stark for a bit, and then crawl under the beast and maybe get some of the work she’d been putting off done.

“Oh,” a thought occurred to her, “I’m gonna need to place a special order Stark.”

“For what?”

“Tungsten.”***

Stark got a thoughtful look on his face. “How much?”

“Not sure yet,” Darcy rasped. “Gotta make anchors for the boss lady,” she jerked her thumb upwards towards Jane and her labs.

“Anchors?” Barton echoed, a politely puzzled expression on his face.

“For an Einstein-Rosen bridge,” Stark answered distractedly. He turned slowly around, his eyes darting over his shop and all that it held, but Darcy recognised that look on his face. He was thinking deep thoughts about heat resistant metal alloys and power sources and containment measures.

Darcy opened her mouth, about to explain the need for an anchor, when DUM-E rolled over to them, his motor softly whirring. Stark ignored him entirely, but that was okay with DUM-E because his attention was focused solely on Darcy. He trilled at her, the same adorable sound he’d always used to call for her attention, but as soon as she focused it on him, he shifted gears.

“ _Hello, is it me you’re looking for?_ ”

Darcy’s jaw practically hit the floor as she stared at the robot in front of her. Considering that he had no face, or even humanoid features, he looked damned well pleased with himself. Spinning on the spot, his little camera maintaining eye contact with her, he continued.

“ _I can see it in your eyes. I can see it in your smile._ ”

Stunned, Darcy looked up at Stark, and then at Barton, though neither of them looked even remotely surprised. Stark looked resigned.

“Yeah, that’s all on _you_ ,” he said, pointing at her.

She looked back down at DUM-E and he sang to her again, “ _Helloooooo”_ in Lionel Richie’s distinctive voice. It was too much for her. She burst into laughter, and even though it hurt her throat, she couldn’t stop. She laughed until she wheezed, which then led to coughing. All the while, DUM-E spun on the spot as if he were dancing for her, singing her lines from that _terrible, terrible_ song.

When she could breathe again, she looked up at Stark and rasped, “I didn’t give him that audio! I don’t have any Lionel Richie.”

Stark made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat as he threw his rag down.

“Yeah, well. JARVIS thinks he’s funny.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I’m not sure if Jane being an orphan is canon or fanon (Googling left me with more questions than answers) but I’m going with it.  
> ** Kudos to Narshalla for that line. I don’t know if it’s yours or you’re quoting someone else, but I really liked it.  
> *** A metal alloy.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I'm constantly apologising every time I upload a new chapter because it's been a ridiculous amount of time between updates. While life has been crazy, I struggled with this chapter, so feedback would be greatly appreciated. 
> 
> Also, please note that I tweaked the end of the last chapter. Very minor changes, hopefully you won't even notice.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

“Again.”

Darcy ducked, tumbled, jumped to her feet and kicked out at an imaginary foe. Sweat poured down the side of her face, her neck, between her shoulders and her breasts. The thought of her sports bra made her grimace. It would be nasty. Legendary nasty. Come to think of it, her underwear was probably no better, what with being tucked into a nice, warm place, but ultimately it would be worth it.

Circling her slowly, the Widow watched as she went through the routine she’d been taught. It was like a dance. Once you knew the steps it became like muscle memory and you could almost drift as you went through the moves. Only Darcy trained with the Black Widow, and you definitely didn’t want to drift with that woman in the room.

Case in point; Romanov suddenly darted towards Darcy, taking advantage of a blind spot. Darcy heard the soft shift of her trainers on the mats and reacted. Changing the steps of her dance, she tumbled sideways and darted a look at her opponent as she fell. In a swift move that wouldn’t have been possible a few months ago, Darcy pushed herself up to the balls of her feet and launched herself at her foe, swiping her feet at the Widow’s in an attempt to knock her down. The spy was more than capable of taking Darcy on, and she jumped nimbly out of the way, turning on one leg and kicking Darcy square in the chest. It was, by Romanov’s standards, a love-tap, but it still knocked Darcy flat on her ass and forced the breath out of her lungs.

“Shit,” she gasped, hating that involuntary flood of panic that engulfed her when she had the wind knocked out of her. She’d never been good with that sensation, having a stomach bug had been a nightmare as a child, but it had become worse in recent weeks. She couldn’t stand the thought of not being able to breathe.

Romanov crouched down in front of her, offering a gloved hand for assistance. Darcy wasn’t ready to stand yet, but she knew that she was being judged on how she handled being handed her ass and so she took the proffered hand and let the other woman haul her to her feet.

“That was good,” Romanov told her.

Darcy shot her a disbelieving look, still working on getting her breath back. A smile twitched at the corner of the agent’s mouth. “I’m not being sarcastic,” she assured her. “You adapted to a change in the pattern. Did you overcome me? No. But you didn’t freeze, you didn’t hesitate. You made a move. This is good, it’s progress.”

“Well, when you put it _that_ way,” Darcy wheezed. “Almost makes having my ass handed to me worth it.”

Romanov did smile at that, squeezing Darcy’s arm before moving off towards their gym bags at the side of the room. She fished around for a water bottle and Darcy took a moment to admire the other woman’s figure. She was the definition of svelte; strength and violence hidden in smooth lines and elegant curves. Her figure was petite and lithe; like a dancer. Basically, everything that Darcy would never be. She glanced down at herself and all she saw were her boobs. They obscured everything else, _and_ they were hideously sweaty. On most days, Darcy was damn proud of them. Her breasts could stop traffic, and if she put her mind to it, probably bring about world peace, but there were days where she longed to look like Natasha Romanov. Days where she’d like nothing more than to not have to hunt high and low for jeans that could accommodate her ass without giving her a god awful case of camel toe, days where she’d give anything to be able to wear a pair of knee high boots and not have them get stuck on her calves, or wear button down shirts. Christ, when was the last time she could wear button down shirts? She’d probably been eight. Puberty hit pretty young in the Lewis family, and there’s nothing like wearing an underwire bra at ten.

The Widow cleared her throat, bringing Darcy back to the present, and she realised that she’d been blatantly staring at the other woman. She felt her cheeks flame and she ripped her gaze away.

“I, uh,” she stammered. “Uh. What’s next?”

“You need to learn how to shoot.”

That brought Darcy’s head up fast, her embarrassment forgotten and promptly replaced with horror. She’d thought that this idea had been abandoned, since it hadn’t come up in a long while, and up until recently, Barton had been MIA.

“ _What_? No.” She held both gloved hands up and waved them frantically. “No, no, no. Bad idea.”

Romanov arched a single red eyebrow at her. “Why?”

“Because I like all of my appendages exactly where they are,” Darcy replied, wiggling her fingers. “I’d be the idiot who shot herself in the foot.”

The Widow smiled again, crossing her arms over her chest and regarding Darcy with amusement. “No pupil of mine would dare shoot themselves in the foot.”

“I would be the first, I assure you,” Darcy insisted.

The other woman was silent for a moment, as if judging whether or not Darcy was serious—and she was, _deadly_ serious— then made a noncommittal kind of shrug with her head and one shoulder. “It’s a useful skill.”

Darcy bit her lip. It wasn’t that she was opposed to guns. Not in the slightest. She’d be in an awkward situation if she were considering the fact that she lived in the Avenger’s Tower, where a large majority of the people carried guns on their hips. And in their boots. And their pants. And God only knew where else. Competent, sane people with guns? Sure. Darcy was simply opposed to _Darcy_ having a gun.

“Come here,” Romanov said, gesturing with one hand. Darcy walked over hesitantly, expecting the other woman to produce a gun. She knew that there was definitely one in the agent’s boot, and probably one in her gym bag too, not to mention the various knives no doubt tucked away on her person.

The Widow grabbed her gently by the shoulders when she had closed the gap between them and turned her so that they were back to chest. Her hands slid along Darcy’s arms and brought them up in front of her, pulling here, pushing there, until she had adjusted them to the position she wanted. Darcy felt a nudge at her feet and looked down to see a third foot between her sneakers. She adjusted her stance until her feet were planted shoulder width apart.

“Steadier?” Romanov asked.

“I think so?”

“You think, or you know?”

“Honestly, I’m a little bit more preoccupied with the thought that you might put a gun in my hand at any moment,” Darcy confessed. “It’s freaking me out.”

“Do you fear the gun, or yourself?”

“Both,” Darcy answered promptly.

“Know your weapon, maintain it, and it will not fail you,” Romanov said, still standing behind her. “Trust yourself and your skills. I won’t ask more than you can give.”

“I think you over estimate my skills.”

“Do not minimize your worth.”

There was a quiet intensity to the Widow’s words that made Darcy pause. She could tell that they were heartfelt, though she didn’t really know why. They weren’t exactly friends, though they were _something_. At least, Darcy thought so. There was never any telling what the Black Widow was thinking.

Behind Darcy, Romanov shifted and Darcy heard metal clicking against metal, then there was a gun in front of her, being pressed into her hands. She took it and felt her entire body break out in a sweat.

“Breathe,” the Widow commanded softly, her lips at Darcy’s ear. She cupped her hands around Darcy’s, adjusting her grip. “Feel the weight of it.”

“It’s heavy,” Darcy told her.

“You will become accustomed to it,” Romanov told her. Gently, she nudged Darcy’s elbows, bringing her arms up ever so slightly. “Aim with both eyes, and do not close them when you fire.”

“Fire!?” Darcy echoed, a distinct note of panic in her tone. “Are you crazy, woman?”

Darcy could feel her chuckle, both in the other woman’s breath on her neck, and the movement of her body in such close proximity.

“Not so much, these days. I removed the bullets already.” As if to offer proof, she held out a hand with a single bullet and a magazine lying in her gloved palm. “Stark would be less than pleased if we riddled his gym walls with bullets.”

“Maybe we should, just for the sake of seeing the look on his face.”

Romanov chuckled again but tucked the bullets away. “Perhaps another time. Now, pick a target and adjust your aim.”

“How will I know if I’ll hit it?”

“You’ll know when I take you to the shooting range in the basement. For now, just pretend.”

“Okay,” Darcy agreed. Her heart raced a little as her eyes roved over the gym equipment in front of her and she settled on a speed bag on the other side of the room. She could feel the sweat on her palms and, not for the first time, she was thankful for the Widow’s gift of gloves. With her luck, she’d drop the gun the first time she tried to use it.

“Do you have it?”

“I have it.”

“Then shoot it.”

Despite the fact that she knew there were no bullets in the gun, Darcy’s heart gave an uncomfortable jolt as she squeezed the trigger. The gun let out a rather anti-climactic _click_.

She breathed a sigh of relief and began to drop her arms when the Widow suddenly grabbed her elbows and yanked them back into place.

“Never drop your guard until you are certain your target is eliminated. Always follow through,” she told Darcy. “You may have missed, or only wounded your opponent. Dropping your gun gives them the opportunity to kill you.”

Slowly, Darcy turned around, twisting at the waist, to face the woman behind her. Romanov met her silent enquiry head on, her blue eyes intensely serious, and her mouth set in a grim line. It struck Darcy in that moment that this woman was an assassin, a killer with red hands and horribly heavy soul. It was something she’d known, clinically, but never really thought too much about, other than to make a joke about killing a man with only her thighs.

“I’m sorry,” Darcy murmured. The Widow silently raised one eyebrow in question, prompting Darcy to continue, “Sorry that…that this is your life.”

Shock danced across Romanov’s face and Darcy felt that, for the first time, she had no trouble reading the other woman’s expression. Her eyes widened, and her lips parted as if she was going to say something, but no words came out. Her gaze roved over Darcy’s face, seeking out something unknown.

Reaching up, Romanov gently cupped Darcy’s cheek, stroking her gloved thumb along the ridge of her cheekbone. Darcy blinked once, twice, and then realised exactly what the expression on the other woman’s face meant. Without thinking, she jerked her head back, and stepped away.

Instantly, she knew she’d done the wrong thing. The Widow pulled her hand back as if she’d been burned and turned sharply on her heel.

“Forgive me, I was out of line,” she said, tossing the words quickly over her shoulder as she marched to her gym bag and hefted it on to her shoulder.

“Wait!” Darcy darted forward, panic dancing through her gut. “ _Wait_!”

She seemed to have no intention of stopping. Darcy knew that if she let the other woman leave without explaining herself, their friendship, or whatever it was, would never recover. Though she’d never paused to evaluate that friendship’s worth in her life, Darcy knew that she’d regret it if she didn’t try to fix the misunderstanding.

Darcy reached her just before the doors and latched on to the other woman’s bicep, throwing her weight into it as she yanked back. “Romanov, _wait just a goddamn second_!”

The Widow spun to face her, but instead of the anger, or the embarrassment that she expected to see on her face, there was…nothing. She wore no expression at all, except perhaps, indifference. It was an eerie thing to look at, especially when Darcy knew that she was capable of so much more.

“I…I didn’t mean—I mean, I’m not but…I was just…startled?” Darcy cringed as the words tumbled out of her mouth. They weren’t what she wanted to say, but _god damn_ , she didn’t know _what_ to say.

Romanov nodded once, a sharp jerk of her head, and turned to leave once more.

“ _Wait!_ ” Darcy practically shrieked the word, and this time she did pause, turning back slowly, still with that blank look on her face.

Panicking, Darcy did the only thing she could think of to make it right, the same thing that Jane had once done for her. She shoved the gun that she was still holding under her arm pit and pulled off one glove with her teeth before holding out her hand.

Romanov glanced down at her hand and then back up at Darcy’s face.

“I won’t look. I just—,” Darcy grimaced. “Let me show you. _Please_?”

The other woman hesitated for a moment, but then she pulled her right glove off and reached out to grasp Darcy’s hand firmly.

Instantly, Darcy’s mind surged forwards and she had to consciously pull herself back. In her desperation to communicate her feelings, she’d not taken the time to guard herself. She felt Romanov in her mind; her wariness, her wounded pride, and…her hurt.

Without thought, Darcy’s eyes closed, and she reached forward through the connection of their hands, trying to show without words what she felt, and what thought. She pushed her shock, confusion, and a little bit of embarrassment, to the edge of her mind. There was no disgust, no revulsion. Darcy had no interest in women, but she certainly didn’t judge anyone else for their desires. Reaching within herself, she brought forth her feelings surrounding the other woman; admiration, gratitude, fondness, envy, and pride.

Darcy’s eyes opened when she felt fingers squeeze hers. She found Romanov—no, _Natasha_ —looking back at her.

“Thank you for that,” she said, her voice quiet. Darcy was relieved to see the small smile flit about her lips. “You’ve been practicing, I see.”

Gently, Darcy disengaged their hands, pulling back on their mental connection at the same time. “Not really, actually.”

“Then you are quite gifted with this power of yours,” she said, matter of fact. “It was very easy to understand your intentions and…I apologise, again, for my actions.”

“Agent Romanov, you _really_ don’t have to apologise,” Darcy insisted, her cheeks warming again.

“Perhaps not,” she agreed, her smile widening, and her eyes warming. “I would like it, though, if you would call me Natasha.”

Darcy smiled at her, relieved. “I suppose I could do that.”

“Mmmhmm, while you’re at it,” Natasha reached forward and grabbed the gun that was still trapped in Darcy’s armpit, “don’t ever put a gun there again. If it was loaded, you could hurt yourself.”

“I’m pretty sure I could hurt myself with an unloaded gun,” Darcy countered cheerily. She felt light and giddy after the panic and fear that had rushed through her just minutes before. “Yet another reason why I shouldn’t be trusted with one.”

Natasha snorted and pulled the magazine from where it was tucked into the waist of her pants and quickly loaded the gun with short, efficient movements. Glancing pointedly at Darcy, she knelt swiftly and put it back in her boot.

“We will be adding weapons training to your regiment,” she said as she stood. “I will speak to Clint about it.”

“Clint? As in…Agent Barton, that Clint?” Darcy asked, twisting her glove between her hands. “World’s best marksman, that Clint?” Natasha nodded, arching one eyebrow as if to say _And?_

“Seriously?” Darcy grimaced. “You’re gonna put me with him? What did he do to piss you off?”

“If I wanted to punish him, I wouldn’t use you to do it,” she told Darcy, a feral grin on her lips. “I’d simply beat sense into him.”

Darcy winced. Poor Barton.

Natasha adjusted her bag on her shoulder, clearly done with the conversation, and Darcy quickly made one last desperate attempt to get out of losing a limb, or an eye, or, you know, her life.

“ _Or_ ,” she held out both hands, palms up, “and here’s a wild idea, Darcy doesn’t learn how to shoot at all!”

She was pinned with a look. “If you’re truly opposed to learning, I won’t force you,” Natasha told her. “But I believe you should learn this skill. It may save your life one day, Darcy. You are a mutant with a potentially powerful gift, you live and work with the Avengers, and if you don’t think that you’re a target, you’re not as smart as I took you for.”

Darcy sighed and scrubbed her bare hand over her face. “When you put it like that, how the hell am I supposed to say no?”

Natasha smirked. “You don’t.”

**-** **✮** **-**

“Hey! Small fry! Did you steal my soldering gun again?”

Darcy grunted, pressing her shoulder into the floor and shoving with the heel of her hand against the panel above her. It snapped into place with a metallic click, and she hoped to god she wouldn’t need to open it again any time soon, because she’d probably lose patience and take a blowtorch to it.

“Small fry, I’m talking to you!”

“And _I’m_ ignoring you,” Darcy retorted, scooting forward a bit so that she was situated under yet another panel. Guilt had driven her to throwing herself into finishing Jane’s spectrometer—that and a fervent desire to avoid one Steve Rogers who, coincidentally, avoided Tony Stark’s lab as if it carried the plague. Whilst avoiding Steve Rogers and assuaging her guilty conscience, she was also determinedly avoiding thinking about James Barnes, Professor Xavier, her mother, or anything else that could raise her blood pressure. At the rate she was going, she could add “Avoidance Specialist” to her CV.

“Rude.” Her light, provided by a gap in the machinery, was suddenly cut off and Darcy looked up to find Tony’s face frowning at her. “And I still don’t have my soldering gun.”

“If you’d just buy a second one with the oodles and oodles of money you have, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Darcy pointed out.

“I don’t _need_ two of them small fry, it’s only supposed to be _me_ in this lab,” he countered.

“Well, then isn’t it funny that I _don’t_ have your stupid soldering gun and haven’t touched it in at least three days?” Darcy asked sweetly, smiling up at him.

His frown deepened. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Huh.” His face disappeared, allowing Darcy’s light back in. She heard him yell, “JARVIS! Where’s my soldering gun?”

“I believe it is under the various pieces of the Trevita’s transmission, Sir.”

“Oh. Right.”

“ _What_!?” Darcy hastily pulled herself forward, enough to poke her head out from under the spectrometer in time to see Stark pushing aside a greasy looking gear box. “Trevita? As in the most expensive car on the goddamn planet? _That_ Trevita?”

He half turned, looking over his shoulder at her. “Yes?”

“And you took it _apart_!?”

Tony rolled his eyes, much like Darcy would expect from a 12-year-old girl confronted with her irate mother, but turned to face her completely. He crossed his arms over his chest, also like a 12-year-old might. “It has design flaws. I’m _fixing_ it.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Darcy said, slightly dumbfounded.

“There’s only two in the world, you know,” he spoke as if she hadn’t. Or as if he was completely used to such reactions to his antics.

“Two what?” Darcy asked, wriggling herself out from under the spectrometer and heaving herself off the floor. She was absolutely filthy, but she had dressed for the occasion in an old Culver t-shirt and a pair of jeans that had definitely seen better days. She grabbed a rag hanging off the side of the spectrometer and tried to find a clean corner.

“Two Koenigsegg CCXR Trevitas.”

Darcy gaped at him. “There’s only two in the whole world?” He nodded. “How much did it cost?” she asked warily, not entirely sure she wanted to know.

“I think it’s like 4.8 million or something but—”

“ _What_!” Darcy chucked the rag she had in her hand at him. It missed him by a good three feet, falling harmlessly to the floor between them. “Are you completely mental?”

“But I didn’t buy it,” he told her, pitching his voice over hers, “I won it off of that Neanderthal, Mayweather.”

He shrugged, completely nonchalant, and turned back to the table holding the parts to a very, very expensive transmission, looking intently for a sixty dollar soldering gun that could be found in every Home Depot in the damn country. And in Canada, for that matter.

“Wait. Who the hell is that?”

It was Tony’s turn to give her a look, as if she were the ridiculous one. “You know. Floyd Mayweather? Undefeated boxer? Professional piece of shit that hits women? Ringing any bells?”

Darcy wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “No. I don’t get out much.”

“Preeeaaach!” He yelled, putting a hand over his heart.

“You’re trying to be cool, but you’re failing at it,” Darcy told him bluntly, bending to scoop the rag off the floor. “Less internet for you.”

Tony gasped, looking genuinely offended, but before he could say anything, JARVIS interrupted.

“Sir. You have a visitor.”

Both Darcy and Tony turned towards the doors which, interestingly enough, opened on their own. Darcy watched in dismay as Professor Xavier rolled—or rather, floated—through the open doors.

“Those aren’t automatic doors, are they?” Darcy asked Tony, though she already knew the answer. Her eyes tracked the movements of the other mutant, and nodded stiffly when he acknowledged her regard.

“Noooooope.” Tony stepped forward, into Darcy’s field of view, and offered a dirty hand to the professor. “What brings you here, professor?”

Xavier shook the dirty hand, seemingly unfazed by the grease left on his skin. “I’ve come to speak to your young protégée, actually.”

He turned his gaze on to Darcy, and she felt her heart skip a beat. He made her nervous, this mutant who could read her thoughts at the drop of a hat, and once again she was reminded of how other people must feel around _her_ when they learned just what she could do.

_Yes, there will always be those who fear you, who cannot learn to trust you, because of what you are capable of._

Darcy gritted her teeth and glared at him. “Maybe if you extended a little bit of common courtesy and stayed out of other people’s heads they wouldn’t have a reason to distrust you so damn much!” she spat at him, using her mouth instead of her mind for Tony’s benefit.

“Uh, clearly I’ve missed a key part of this conversation,” Stark said, holding up one finger like he was about to ask a question in class. “Anyone care to fill me in?”

“Ms. Lewis has, quite correctly, pointed out the error of my ways,” Xavier said, turning his attention briefly to Tony before switching back to Darcy. “I apologise. I am in the habit of communicating telepathically with other like-minded individuals and I did not think of how you might react.”

 _Bullshit_ , Darcy thought, though not at him. If he heard her, he gave no indication of it, but Darcy didn’t trust for a second that he wasn’t still listening to her thoughts. She hardly knew him, but he didn’t strike her as the kind of man who did such a thing in error. He was precise. His powers demanded it.

“What can I do for you, Professor?” she asked, neatly sidestepping the issue for the moment. The last thing she wanted was to have a spat with the most powerful mental mutant on the planet. It probably wouldn’t end well for her.

“I’ve come to, unfortunately, deliver something of an ultimatum to you,” he told her. “I came to New York with the intentions of tutoring you in your gifts, but I cannot remain here permanently. I have a school to run. My team is competent, but I do not like to leave so many youngsters alone for too long. Logan is not known for his patience.”

“Huh. Sounds interesting. Do I need popcorn for this?” Tony asked, looking between the two of them.

“You’re such an ass,” Darcy sighed, glancing at him. He merely waggled his eyebrows and grinned, completely unrepentant. She turned her attention back to Xavier, unsure of what to say.

Darcy knew that she needed to learn more about her powers, how to control them, what her limits were, and most importantly: how to protect herself with them. She was learning from Natasha, and she thought she was coming along quite well in that regard but it was a frustratingly slow progress, even though she’d gained some muscle definition. If she could learn to use her powers, she would be better protected, better prepared for a world with monsters and magic in it.

That, however, meant letting in this man before her, and she wasn’t quite sure she could trust him. He liked to manipulate people just a little bit too much, and perhaps it was because he thought he knew what was best for others—maybe he did, being a psychic and all—but it rubbed her the wrong way.

“I must ask for your answer in this regard by tomorrow at noon,” he told her, ignoring Tony completely. “Is that acceptable to you?”

Darcy nearly sighed in relief as she nodded silently.

“Good,” he smiled warmly at her, his chair turning without the use of his hands. “I shall look forward to speaking with you tomorrow then. Goodnight, Mr. Stark.”

“Toodles.”

Together, they watched the man leave the same way he came, silently, and with the use of his powers. When the door slid softly shut behind him, Darcy turned to Tony.

“Toodles?”

“What?” he asked defensively. “It’s a thing.”

She sighed, rolled her eyes, and headed back to the spectrometer. Wiggling underneath it, Darcy continued her work in matching wires to their ports.

“DUM-E!” She called out, listening for the whirr of his movements. “Can I get a little light down here bud?”

“Gotta make room for the tacooooos!” he responded, making Tony snort.

“Good job with that one, Lewis.”

Darcy ignored him in favour of taking the small flashlight that DUM-E offered her and sticking it in her mouth so she could still use both hands. Unfortunately, her re-calibrations on DUM-E’s systems didn’t seem to have made him any smarter, or more intuitive. Or perhaps he was still just enjoying the novelty of speech. Either way, he produced the most mind bogglingly random sound bites in response to questions or comments directed his way.

“It’s not really any of my business,” Tony began, “not that that’s ever stopped me in the past, but still, I’m acknowledging that it’s none of my business.” Darcy paused in her wiring to stare confusedly up at the belly of her beast, wondering just what the hell he was going on about. “What you do with your time and your…well, your whatever, is your business but I think you should take the good Professor up on his offer.”

Darcy pulled the flash light out of her mouth to speak. “And how do you know what he’s offered me?”

Unseen, Tony snorted again, but she could picture the smug look on his face without the visual aid. “Small fry, I know _all_.”

“You mean _JARVIS_ knows all,” Darcy corrected.

“Same difference. Either way, I know what he offered you, and you’d be an idiot not to take it. Are you an idiot?”

Darcy didn’t reply immediately. Staring up at the few loose wires still waiting to be assigned, she thought about her response. Was she an idiot? No, no she wasn’t. But she’d been pretty stupid as of late—case in point: one James Buchanan Barnes. She’d rushed in there, dove in head first, and she was lucky she hadn’t ended up paralysed from the neck down when she slammed face first into the brick wall that is Barnes’ issues. In retrospect, she really didn’t blame the assassin for what he did. She knew better than anyone, probably even Barnes himself, just how little of _him_ is in his head, but that didn’t mean that she trusted him, or that she hadn’t learnt a thing or two about jumping without looking.

“I don’t trust him,” Darcy told Tony, still looking up at the wires. “Learning from him would involve having him in my head, and how can I allow that if I don’t trust him?”

She heard Tony’s shoes move against the concrete she was lying on, making her peer between the legs of the spectrometer towards his feet. She was mildly surprised when he folded his legs, and then lay down beside the machine, mirroring her pose underneath it. Lifting his arms, he tucked his hands underneath his head, looking up at the ceiling of his workshop.

“To be fair, Lewis, he’s already in your head, whether you trust him to be there or not. It’s a scary reality, living with mutants in the world, because they have that kind of advantage over us plebs. Don’t—” He pointed at her without looking at her “—ever tell anyone that I called myself a pleb. I’ll deny, deny, deny. But my point is that you’re already vulnerable to him, whether you like it or not, and he’s offering you a chance to even the playing field a bit. Xavier is a bit of a shifty old bastard, he plays his cards close to the chest, and he has a tendency to think he knows best, which he totally doesn’t, by the way, but he’s not a bad person. I trust him, if it counts for anything.”

He turned to look at her and Darcy almost didn’t recognise him with such a serious, yet calm expression on his face. She’d seen him worried, and angry, she’d seen him cocky and smug and being the little shit that he usually is, but in that moment she looked at Tony and recognised that despite his childish ways, he carried a fair amount of experience and wisdom from his life.

“You remember when you got all pissy earlier and yelled ‘fuck’ louder than any lady ought to be able to?” he asked, changing the track of her thoughts. She gave him a dirty look instead of answering, making him smile. “Well, what you probably didn’t realise is that in that moment, you made every single one of my tools shake.”

Darcy blinked in shock, her mouth parting slightly. Tony correctly read her expression and nodded, “Yeah. You did, small fry. It was only for a second, and had I not been hunting around for my favourite pliers I probably wouldn’t have noticed, but you made that happen without meaning to. Can you imagine what you might do if you were more stressed out? Or scared?”

She thought back to the day when Barnes nearly killed her, the way the furniture had flown around the room. “Oh,” she whispered.

“Yeah. Oh.” Tony sighed, looking back up at the ceiling. “Food for thought, you know?” With a bit of a groan, he sat up and then got to his feet. “Are you done with this thing yet? It takes up an awful lot of space.”

Just like that, snarky, sarcastic Tony Stark was back. Darcy huffed out a soft laugh and rolled her eyes in the privacy of her spot. “Yeah, yeah, just a few more.”

She popped the flashlight back in her mouth and quickly finished up the last few stragglers. When she was done, she wiggled back out from under the machine and made a cursory attempt at dusting herself off. It was a futile effort.

“Done?” Tony asked, looking up from where he was sitting with his long, lost soldering gun, a magnified lighting unit and what looked like a motherboard in front of him.

“Done,” Darcy confirmed. She always had a little flutter of butterflies in her stomach whenever she got to the point of flicking the switch for the first time. Technically, it wasn’t the _very_ first, but the spectrometer hadn’t been completed before so it didn’t count in her books.

With a quick breath, she reached out and punched her code into the keypad on the side panel. The light turned green, acknowledging her access, and then she flicked the switch.

The soft, deep hum of many motors and components firing up met her ears. The screen embedded in the side flickered to life, showing her the boot up menu. Darcy grinned happily at it as it began auto-configuring and doing its self-checks. She looked at Tony and pumped one fist into the air.

“Huzzah!”

He snorted, his mouth lifted in a half-smile. “Well done, little genius. Now I only have one question for you.”

“And what’s that?” Darcy asked, a cocky lilt to her tone. She couldn’t stop grinning.

“How exactly do you plan on getting that thing on to the roof for Foster to play with?”

The grin dropped right off of Darcy’s face as her head whipped around to look at the spectrometer. There was a reason why she called it the beast. It was a fucking _monster_. And she had completely forgotten about that problem, even though it had occurred to her earlier.

Darcy rubbed a dirty hand over her face. “ _Fuck_.”

“Preeeaaach!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Quote from Invader Zim


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYY GUYS.
> 
> When I posted this story, I broke my own rule: Always have the story finished before you begin to post. I was just too excited to get it out there. I apologize for this, I really do, cause I hate waiting months for updates on a story I really like and I know I've done that to you guys. I'm still going to finish this story, and I know exactly how it's going to end (and that there will be a sequel), but I can't give you a timeline on when we will get there. 
> 
> Things that you should note: I changed some things, because I fucked up my own plot. The previous scene with Barton? Scratch it out of your memory. In fact, best go back to Chapter 11 & 12\. Again, I'm sorry!

Darcy’s fingers flew over the keyboard as she wrote up her report for the changes she’d made to the original schematics for Jane’s Beast (official title, should it ever be patented). Jane had been tickled pink at the sight of it when Darcy and Tony had presented it to her, on the roof and all. Darcy had been all game for dissembling it and sticking it into a service elevator to haul it up to the roof the old fashioned way but Tony had some kind of irrational hate on for service elevators. His cryptic references to ‘sweaty construction workers’ left her puzzled and mildly irritated until she snapped at him to get his stupid Iron Man suit out and take it up himself if he was going to be such a prima donna about elevators. To her surprise, he did just that. And barely whined about it while he was doing it.

Jane’s excited squeal and the way she hopped from foot to foot as she did a little scientist dance around the spectrometer made it all worth it for Darcy. She watched, grinning so hard her face hurt, as Jane explored her new toy, mumbling to herself and letting out little “oooh”s every once in a while. She wasn’t even remotely insulted when Jane began to get her science on and then promptly forgot that there were other people present. It was a sign of Darcy’s success if Jane went into that mode so easily. She and Tony eventually gave up on being noticed again and left her to do her thing, Darcy asking JARVIS to let her know if Jane forgot to come up for air for more than four hours. The sun would set around then and Jane, the beanpole that she was, didn’t have a jacket with her or a hope in hell of staving off hypothermia.

Darcy was so intent on her thoughts and her report that it took her a moment to realise that her music had been turned off without her knowledge or consent. She looked around at the empty common room and then frowned.

“JAR—”

She was cut off when the lights abruptly changed intensity, going from low and easy on the eyes, to a harsh brightness that made her blink furiously.  
“ _Lockdown in effect. Please remain calm. Code Alpha Roger 433._ ” Came an automated voice that sounded nothing like JARVIS’. It was female, for one, and distinctly not British. “ _Lockdown in effect. Remain where you are and secure the area.”_  

“JARVIS?” Darcy asked, looking up. “What’s going on?”

“I am afraid I cannot comment on the situation, Miss Darcy. Privacy protocols have been engaged by Captain Rogers.”

“Huh.” Darcy pulled out her phone and quickly shot off a text to Jane.

**_Are you okay? Safe?_ **

She had learned in her brief time at the Tower that lockdowns happened more frequently than you’d think for a state of the art building, but they were caused by a myriad of reasons. Usually, it was Tony’s fault. He had a disturbing habit of building things that shouldn’t be contained in a basement workshop and then turning them on. He never seemed to think about the fact that they could go _boom_ and bring down the entire place on his head.

Her phone pinged softly, and Jane’s smiling face popped up on her screen.

**_Safe and sound. You? Do you know what’s going on?_ **

Darcy typed back to Jane.

**_Not a clue. I’m safe. So much for my meeting with Xavier tho._ **

With a sigh, Darcy dropped her phone back on the couch beside her and stared at her half-written report. She was waiting in one of the common areas on the residence floors for Xavier to show up for their ‘meeting’, otherwise known as her accepting his ultimatum. And who would have thought the day would come when Darcy would be taking advice from Tony Stark? He was probably certifiable most days, but even she could not deny the truth of his words. They had bounced around her head all night while she stared at the ceiling of her bedroom and tried to force herself to sleep. He was right, and she knew it. Xavier was already in her head, and she was just going to have to go out on a limb and accept his word at face value.

The lights above her flashed again, which was annoying. They would do that until whatever lockdown had been lifted, but at least there wasn’t the wailing of the klaxons. Thoughts of Tony had Darcy picking up her phone again and thumbing through her contacts, looking for the distinctive picture of Iron Man’s face (a contact photo that Tony had insisted on).

**_What’s going on?_ **

Darcy stared at her phone, willing it to ding and light up with a message, an answer from Tony—or anyone for that matter. She would have texted Natasha but she knew that she wasn’t even on the premises at the moment, called away again on a mission with Barton to places unknown.

“JARVIS? Is Tony okay?” she asked, still staring at the phone.

“Sir is well, Miss Darcy.”

She sighed. At least there was that. “Okay,” she said, resigning herself to not knowing what was going on. If Tony had blown something up, JARVIS would have been able to tell her, there wouldn’t be any privacy protocols put in place over _that_.

In retrospect, Darcy should have put two and two together to get four but she didn’t clue in until the far wall of the common room burst open, sending plaster and dry wall and crumbling concrete everywhere.

Darcy didn’t have any time to react, not even to gasp. Her breath froze in her lungs as James, metal arm first, came barrelling through the wall as if the hounds of hell were on his ass. Darcy’s hands clenched on her laptop, her eyes wide and her heart pounding at the sight of him—it had been weeks since she last saw him, and he looked even shittier than before—but he didn’t seem to register her at all. His attention went straight to the floor to ceiling windows that graced one side of the room. He ran over to them and hauled back with his metal arm to slam his fist into the glass. Darcy knew that it was bullet proof, there were several layers thick shatter resistant glass to protect the Avengers from anyone who might get it into their heads to start spraying bullets at the windows, but apparently it wasn’t Soviet metal arm proof. The glass splintered ever so slightly under his metal knuckles and James hauled back again, throwing all of his power and weight into the motion and making the glass splintered further. Darcy sat, frozen in fear and fascination, as James punched the glass again, and again, and again, until finally it gave up under the assault and exploded outwards. Glass shimmered in the afternoon sunlight for a brief second before it began its descent to the pavement sidewalks so far below. She had a split second of fear for the people walking down there and hoped to god that no one got impaled, but that thought was quickly wiped from her mind when James stepped forward into the void left by the glass.

He had no fear, or at least none that she could see. His socked feet rested on the edge of the window frame, unconcerned about the sharp pieces around him, and the wind from being so high up thrust his hair around his face. She watched, horror in her throat, as he leaned forward, the muscles in his back and shoulders bunching, preparing.

Before she could even process the thought, Darcy was on her feet, her laptop tumbling to the ground unnoticed.

“DON’T!”

He spun around and dropped into a defensive crouch, arms held out slightly in front of him, ready to defend himself from the unknown threat. His eyes, wild and panicked, lit upon her and recognition flashed across his face. He frowned, ever so slightly and, oh so slowly, he started to straighten out of his crouch.

“’Becca?”

Darcy held up both hands, as if he pointed a gun at her instead of merely his attention. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, and she couldn’t help but think back to the last time she had seen him, of the way his head had tilted as he assessed her and the blank look in his eyes. Darcy took a deep breath through her nose and let it out through her mouth, forcing herself to focus on his eyes. They weren’t blank, even if they were assessing, and it was that fact alone that made her take a careful, tentative step forward.

“My name is Darcy. Do you remember me, James? We’ve met before.”

The sound of the wind rushed through the common room, stealing her softly spoken words, but she knew that he had heard her because, slowly, he nodded.

“Good,” she breathed the word, “that’s good.”

He watched her while she watched him, neither of them moving, neither of them speaking. Words failed her, even as her mind jumped around from one thought to another. Why was he trying to escape? He’d been in the Tower for so long, why now? And how had he made his way up to the residential floors? Was he suicidal? Was that why he had smashed open the window? Or was that simply the most expedient way to get out?

Darcy hadn’t decided what she was going to say yet when the decision for action was abruptly wrenched from her hands in the form of Steve bursting into the room, shield on his arm and fear in his eyes.

“Darcy!”

She had barely registered her name on his lips, or the way he began to move as if he were going to run towards her, when she was slammed into hard enough to knock the wind right out of her. She felt an arm wrap around her body, hard and unforgiving, felt it swing her around and right off her feet. She stumbled, nearly lost her balance, but then there was another arm righting her body and forcing her to keep her feet beneath her. Darcy choked on a startled cry, everything happened so quickly she could barely register it.

James. James was there, in front of her, crowding her space with his body. His broad back was blocking her view of Steve, of the room, of everything else. Without turning to look at her, he grabbed her hand with his metal one and pressed it against his shoulder, right where metal met flesh.

“Hold,” he grunted at her, his voice a deep growl.

“Buck—” she heard Steve begin, and felt the muscle underneath her fingers tense.

“THAT’S NOT MY NAME!” James screamed, backing up at the same time and pushing Darcy along with him.

Her brain wasn’t functioning the way it ought. Panic and confusion thrummed through her veins and she gave over higher reasoning for pure instinct. She ran. Ran away from James, from Steve, from the whole clusterfuck of a situation. She’d barely made it four steps before they both sprang into action. Steve called her name, panic and desperation in his voice, while James simply grabbed her.

The moment his right hand closed around hers, he exploded into her head. Words, images, and emotions raced through her. There was no barrier between them, no wall, no distance. In that moment, it nearly overwhelmed her and she staggered under the onslaught. His mind was a tornado of thoughts, half-formed memories, and emotions. He was terrified, but desperate enough to push through it. He didn’t want to hurt Steve, he just wanted _out_ and he wanted to take her with him because she was…she was…

_Handler. Assets protect the Handler._

A snippet of a memory accompanied the thought, of being surrounded by threats in a dark, dingy building, of bars penning them in, of a hand on his shoulder, and a man’s voice yelling “Protect me!”

Darcy wrenched her hand away with a cry at the exact same moment that Tony, in his Iron Man suit, flew through the broken window and charged at James.

“NO!”

Steve and Darcy cried out at the exact same time, their panic meshing together. Steve jumped into action, throwing himself after Tony, but James was ready for the assault and he dodged it, swinging his body around and punching Tony in the back with his metal hand. Darcy screamed as Tony skidded off course and landed in a heap on the floor, the suit gouging deep skid marks into the shiny wood. She barely had the time to see Tony get his feet under him before James launched himself at Steve, attacking the threat. Steve held up the shield, letting it take the brunt of James’ force and the room rang with the sound of metal on vibranium.

“STOP IT!” Darcy screamed, but no one was listening to her. Tony attacked with his hand repulsors, and Darcy’s heart stopped for a second as she watched the bolt of energy fly towards James, watched the other man barely dodge it as he swung around and tried to put his back to something. For a split second, his eyes met hers from across the room and she clearly saw the abject terror in him without having to touch him at all. He was in survival mode, lashing out at that which scared him.

Warmth, tingling and prickling, welled up in her and Darcy threw out her hands instinctively, holding both of them up palm out.

“STOP IT!” she screamed again, but this time she didn’t give them a choice.

She felt her power surge through and out of her, following her unspoken command. Tony was shoved back to one side of the room, the heels of his suit adding more gouges to the floor.

“Lewis!” he barked, his voice distorted by the suit. “What are you—”

Darcy wasn’t listening; she was shoving Steve back to the opposite side of the room at the same time. Unlike Tony, he didn’t fight it; he let her force him up against the wall, his chest heaving and his shield still held in front of him protectively.

“Just stop,” Darcy panted. She felt like she’d been running a marathon, while hauling a car along behind her. Her arms shook and her knees gave out, one at a time, until she was kneeling on the floor. “Stop attacking him. You’re…making it….worse.”

She dropped her hands, no longer able to hold on to her power and she felt it fizzle and subside. Tony straightened the moment she released her hold on him and took a step towards her. “Darcy—”

James let out a growl, a low, deep sound, and scrambled across the room towards her, launching himself over fallen furniture to reach her. Darcy heard the sound of the repulsors gearing up at the same moment that James reached her, turning into a half-crouch in front of her prone form.

“Tony!” she barked sharply. “I said fucking stop it!”

Somehow, she found the strength to haul herself up to her feet. She stumbled a bit, and automatically reached out to steady herself on James, feeling his muscles tense and jump underneath his now torn shirt, but for the first time since he’d attacked her she wasn’t afraid of him. He was protecting her.

Tony didn’t know that, though.

“Darcy, step back from him,” Tony demanded, his hand still out and poised to attack, the repulsor glowing in the palm of his gloved hand.

“Tony,” she gasped his name, “I need you to trust me.”

As she spoke, Darcy stepped in front of James, grabbing his metal wrist as she did and placing it on her shoulder in the exact same way that he had done to her. She turned her upper body in order to make eye contact with him and she didn’t need to touch his skin to see his confusion in the way his eyes darted from his hand to her face. “Hold,” she told him firmly.

Turning back to Tony and Steve, she held up two shaking hands. “Please, just stand down. He’s not going to hurt me right now.”

“Darcy, don’t be stupid,” Tony snapped. “This isn’t a fairy tale, and he isn’t a knight in shining armour. He almost killed you once before, kid.”

“I know,” she panted the words, “I haven’t forgotten, but right now, he sees me as his handler and he’s trying to protect us both from the two of you, so if you would like to not see me splattered against the wall could you _please stand down_?”

Darcy could hear her heart beating wildly in her chest. Her knees shook violently, sending tremors through the rest of her shaking muscles. Tony’s faceplate was down, and it felt weird talking to the glowing eyes of the Iron Man suit, but Darcy knew without seeing that Tony was staring her down. Xavier had told her that Tony was a man of action, not words; she was asking him to go against his nature, she knew that, but she also knew that if she didn’t diffuse the situation, someone would probably end up dead.

Her knees almost gave out with relief when the glowing white of the repulsor faded, the sound of it powering down accompanied by Tony dropping his hand. His faceplate didn’t come up, and his body language didn’t relax, but it was enough.

“Thank you,” she murmured, losing the fight against gravity and her wobbly knees.

Darcy sat down hard, hard enough to startle everyone in the room. There was a tense second when all three of the men leaned in toward her, as if to come to her rescue, but perhaps her mother was looking out for her because neither Tony nor Steve did more than lean anxiously. James, on the other hand, placed two fingers to her pulse point. He paused for a few seconds, long enough to get a read on how hard her heart was hammering away, and then he was hauling her up by her underarms and dragging her backwards, away from Tony and Steve.

“Darcy,” Tony said, his voice tinged with a threat. “Where does Capsicle 2.0 think he’s taking you?”

_Great question_ , Darcy thought. “James,” she said aloud. “James, what are you doing?”

He didn’t answer her, not that she really expected one. He propped her up on her feet and then made a motion as if to lift her, as if he were going to sling her over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. Behind her, both Tony and Steve made sounds of alarm.

“Whoa there, Nelly,” Darcy said, tugging lightly on the wrist he had in his metal hand. “Anywhere I go, I will go under my own power.”

James’ eyes swept over her form, taking in her shaking hands, and her knees locked straight in order to keep her up, before darting back towards Steve and Tony. “Handler compromised. Location not secure,” he muttered, his eyes never leaving the other two men.

Darcy sighed heavily, leaning back against the couch and praying to god that it didn’t slide with her weight. She’d go down like a brick and probably never get back up.

“James, they’re not here to hurt you. They’re here to protect me from you,” she told him wearily.

His eyes darted back to her at that, only for a quick second, but he was clearly listening.

“I know that this is all very confusing,” she said, reaching out to gently rest her shaky hand on his metal arm. “I know that all of your instincts are screaming at you to get out of here, that it’s not safe for either of us, but these people…” she trailed off, not quite sure how to explain to a brainwashed amnesiac that no one wanted to hurt him. Well, she corrected herself mentally, no one _here_ wanted to hurt him, not even Tony. But she _did_ know how he felt, that desperate terror, the need to _run, run, run_ still lingered on her tongue and had her stomach all tight in knots.

She’d have to be very careful what she said and how she said it, because leaving things open to interpretation could lead them down dangerous paths. Darcy decided to switch tactics and let her hand drift down to his, tugging gently on his metal pinky to get his attention. He turned his head slightly, just enough to keep all three of them in his line of sight.

“James, these men are my people. They’re _my_ handlers. Do you know what that means?”

He looked at her a little more fully at that, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. Deciding to push her luck a little, she wrapped her fingers around his palm. He glanced down at his hand, then back up at her, confusion in his eyes.

“If I’m _your_ handler, and they’re _mine_ , what does that mean to you?”

Steve made a sound, soft, but pained, and Darcy suspected it was the word ‘handler’. She knew what that word meant, she’d heard it mentioned before in passing, usually in respect to S.H.E.I.L.D and the head jack booted thug who had ‘repossessed’ her iPod that one time. She knew what Coulson’s job had been; he was the hand that aimed the gun, but she somehow doubted that James had ever had a handler like Coulson had been. Someone who, despite outward appearances, cared for the people he handled.

The furrow between James’ eyebrows deepened even further, drawing them together in a frown. He glanced between her eyes, then down to her hand in his, then over to Steve and Tony, before back to her eyes.

“Hail Hydra.” It was said whisper soft, confusion turning it into a question at the end, but they all heard it nonetheless.

Behind him, Steve choked and dropped his shield. James started at the sound, turning around and backing up against Darcy, covering her body with his, as Steve slid down the wall next to him and into a heap on the floor. His hand came up to cover his face and Darcy knew, deep inside her gut, that he was crying. She squeezed James’ hand, and then wiggled it when he didn’t immediately look away from Steve.

She waited until his eyes made contact with hers before she spoke. “This is not Hydra, James. We are not Hydra. They do not control you anymore. You don’t have to say that anymore, not if you don’t want to,” she told him, surprised by the fierce sound of her voice.

“Not Hydra,” he repeated, his tone flat but his brows still furrowed and his lips thin.

“Not Hydra,” Darcy agreed. She gestured with her free hand to Tony and Steve, who still had not removed his hand from his face. “The Avengers.” He looked at them blankly, eyes darting over Tony still in his Iron Man suit and Steve, looking for all the world like a broken man. Darcy watched James’ blue eyes linger on the red, white, and blue shield. “Have you heard about them?”

He nodded, slowly, not looking at her. Gathering her strength, she forced herself upright and sent up a prayer of thanks for the fact that the couch never did shift under her ass. Standing beside him, hand still held in his left, she pointed to Tony first.

“This is Tony Stark, but his codename is Iron Man. The suit he’s wearing? He built it and several others like it. He’s a genius and a bit of a prick, but he’s a good man.”

Tony’s faceplate came up and he raised both eyebrows at Darcy. “A bit of a prick? Harsh, Lewis.”

Darcy’s lips twitched upwards in a ghost of a smile, and Tony’s eyes warmed for a second, before he turned his attention back to the man at her side.

“I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he told James, “but that’d be a load of horse shit. You’ve given me quite the headache.” He crossed his arms over his chest, a feat considering the fact that he still wore the suit. Darcy chose to ignore him and turned to Steve.

“This is Steve Rogers,” she said softly, looking up at James’ face instead of Steve.

“Man on the bridge,” James murmured, focused on Steve. “Mission Objectives: Kill man on bridge. Tipping point. Push. Give the world freedom.”

Darcy blinked up at him, confused. She had no idea what any of that meant, but it didn’t sound good. He looked just as confused, as if he wasn’t sure about his words, or where they came from. He glanced down at her, as if looking for reassurance.

“No, that’s not the mission anymore,” she said, shaking her head slowly, and forcing the words out through a throat that suddenly felt far too tight. “Hurting Steve is not the mission anymore.”

“Not the mission?” he asked, suddenly sounding like a terribly lost and confused child. “Mission objectives?”

Darcy shook her head. “There is no mission, not ever again,” she told him, trying to force a smile onto her face.

It had the opposite effect that she thought it would. His eyes widened, and suddenly he looked scared. “No mission. No mission. No mission,” he pulled his hand away from hers and his wide eyes screwed shut. “No mission. No mission. No mission. No mission. No mission, no mission, _no mission, no missionnomissionnomission_ —”

The words began to bleed together, panic and fear lacing them as he grabbed his head in his hands once again, brown stringy hair sticking out between his fingers as he found something to pull on. “ _Nomissionnomissionnomissionno_ —”

“James!” Darcy cried out his name. “James, stop, you’re hurting yourself. It’s okay, there won’t be any more missions ever again, I promise—”

At her words, he let out a sharp cry and collapsed to her feet, pulling violently on his hair. She reached for him, damn the consequences, and grabbed both his hands with hers. His fear flooded her again, accompanied by a memory so vivid she felt like she was experiencing it herself. She could see her face— _his,_ she reminded herself—in the reflection of a window surrounded by crudely soldered metal. She watched as she— _he_ —reached out to the window, fear in his chest, as the cold washed over him, swallowing him whole. It snapped into his lungs through his nose and mouth, seeped straight through his clothes, his skin and muscle, to settle deep into his bones. His heart beat wildly, fear making it fly through his chest. For a split second the pain was unimaginable, so sharp and fierce that it stole the breath from him, and then there was…nothing. Darkness. Cold.

Understanding flooded her, even as she heard the commotion around her kick up again. Sounds, voices, they rose and fell like a wave in the back of her mind and she paid them no heed. Threading her fingers through his, she could feel the greasiness of his hair and scalp against the pads of her fingers but she dismissed it just like the noises around her. She focused on his skin, on the feel of his hand under hers.

_No more cold, James. I promise. No one will lock you away like that ever again; you have my word, James. No more cold._

He shuddered underneath her, and while he didn’t let go of his head, he stopped muttering ‘no mission’ to himself. She hadn’t realised that, to him, no mission meant being put away in cold storage like a thing, a tool, an _asset_.

She pulled back on the skin contact, releasing his right hand, but she kept contact with the other one. Their minds separated, and perhaps it was her bone deep exhaustion, or maybe that was getting a little easier. She put it aside, something to be examined at a later date, and let the sounds of the world around her filter back into her consciousness.

“—will make the situation worse. She has control for the—ah, she’s back. Darcy?”

She turned her head towards the new voice, unsurprised to see Professor Xavier sitting there in his wheelchair that looked like it belonged on an episode of Star Trek. He had completely slipped her mind, though she figured she could be forgiven for the lapse considering the circumstances.

“Professor,” she greeted him neutrally, her voice shaking slightly. She made a conscious effort to lock her knees again and not lean on James’ head instead.

“Breathe through it,” he told her in lieu of any kind of greeting. She did as she was told, sucking in a deep breath through her nose and out through her mouth, willing away the nausea that was simmering in her gut and the exhaustion that tickled at the edges of her consciousness. Briefly, she wondered if he knew what she was experiencing because he was in her head, or if because he’d been in the same position before.

“Both,” he answered her, crossing his hands over each other on his lap.

“I should just give you an all access pass to my head, shouldn’t I?” she asked him in between breaths, her tone mildly irritated.

He smiled softly. “I apologise, I know you dislike my intrusion. However, given that it was done in your best interests I am hopeful that you will overlook it.”

Softly, Darcy snorted. “This time.”

His smile widened marginally. “I will endeavour to always seek your permission where possible.”

Before she could make a comment about that, her attention was shifted to Steve as he moved forward. At some point he had clearly stood up and composed himself, only his suspiciously red rimmed and wet looking eyes gave him away. With his shield held loosely in one hand, he halved the distance between them, his eyes locked on his friend.

James, though still distressed with his hands remaining on his head, was clearly aware of the world around him. At the sound of Steve’s footsteps, he let out of a soft sound, almost a whimper and pressed closer to her. His forehead and nose bumped her thigh and his metal hand clenched harder, hurting her fingers.

“Don’t Steve,” she said immediately, holding up her free hand. “No yet. Please.”

For a second, he looked mutinous. She could see the fury and outrage in his eyes, read the anger in the tightness of his lips, and the tension in the way he held his body as if it were a tightly coiled wire about to explode into movement. She could only imagine how much it _hurt_ to see his friend curled up at her feet like a dog afraid of being whipped again. This man was the only person he had left from his life before the serum, from before the war; Bucky was _his person_ , James was not.

“Steve,” Tony’s voice held the same edge of a warning that it had earlier for her. “He’s a live wire, man. Don’t push.”

Words of wisdom from Tony Stark. If Darcy hadn’t seen this side of him before, hadn’t had a glimpse of the world weary Tony, she would have been shocked. As it were, she was merely relieved that he saw things the same way she did. Steve wanted his friend so badly he was liable to make things worse with rushing.

Just when Darcy thought that she was going to have to tell Steve off, he was just standing there, staring at the two of them, he slowly bent down and sat right there on the floor. Placing his shield behind him, he crossed his legs and draped his hands loosely on his knees. Looking intently at his friend, he opened his mouth and spoke softly into the near silence.

“Hi, James. My name is Steve. I know you don’t remember me, and that’s okay. I’ll remember for the both of us.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I appreciate both your feedback and your patience. I hope you enjoy!

Darcy cracked open the second can and lifted it to her lips. Energy drinks were not usually her thing, they were more Jane’s vice than hers, but she usually had a stash on hand even if they were vile and unnatural. At that moment, she didn’t really care about the sickly sweet taste of the drink if it meant that she’d stop feeling like she was walking through a fog.

“ _Are you out of your goddamn mind!?_ ”

She winced as she held the phone away from her ear. The screen lit up as she did so, showing the smiling face of her dear friend Jane.

She’d bet her last dollar that Jane was _not_ smiling on the other end of the connection.

“Jane, this was really one of those ‘You had to be there’ kind of moments,” Darcy told her, pressing the phone back to her ear. She’d told Jane this more than once, not that it was doing her any good.

“He tried to kill you, Darcy. He almost succeeded!”

Darcy glanced at the man standing ramrod straight in the middle of her living room. His head hung low, though his eyes never stopped moving about the space, and his arms were held loosely at his sides. For a brief moment, she remembered all too clearly what that metal hand felt like on her skin and her stomach twisted with nervous energy.

“That he did,” she agreed quietly.

“Then what the ever loving _fuck_ is he doing in your apartment?”

Darcy sighed, and James looked up at her for a second, barely meeting her eyes before his gaze darted away. His shoulders tensed up under her scrutiny, as if he were afraid of her or what she might do to him.

“Things have changed, Jane,” Darcy told her, knowing that it wasn’t a proper answer, but she didn’t know how else to explain it, especially with the man in question standing right in front of her. He was pretty mute most of the time, but certainly not deaf.

“So we’re just letting the homicidal, maniac, brainwashed assassin stay in your apartment now, are we?”

“It seems so,” Darcy said, turning on her heel and making her way into the kitchen so it was less awkward than her staring at him while she talked to Jane _about him._ “I know it sounds crazy, Jane, but I really do have reason to believe that he’s not going to hurt me. He seems to see me as his…as his Coulson, really.”

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “He doesn’t think you’re an agent, does he?”

“I don’t think so?”

“You don’t _know_?” Jane accused. “How do you know you’re safe from him if you don’t know whether he thinks you’re an agent or not? I thought you said you’d been in his head? What will you do if he—”

“Jane, you’re ranting again,” Darcy interrupted her while opening the fridge. Was he hungry? When was the last time he’d eaten? She’d never seen any food trays in his room, but then there also weren’t any intravenous bags on the poles that had been corralled into the corner of his room either. In retrospect, leaving things like IV poles in his room had been a gross oversight on SI’s part. And Steve’s, for that matter. Darcy had seen James in action, up close and personal, and she was willing to bet the man could make a weapon out of thin air.

Maybe she’d made a poor life choice in bringing him into her home.

“Of course I’m ranting! You’re doing something stupid!”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m not alone. JARVIS is always on hand, and Xavier isn’t far away.” _And I’m pretty sure Captain America has taken up residence in the apartment next door_ , she thought to herself. She didn’t want to say it out loud, just in case it spooked him.

“Oh, yes, that makes me feel a million times better,” Jane snarled sarcastically. “An incorporeal AI, and a wheelchair bound man several floors away. _Brilliant back-up plan_.”

“Are you forgetting the part where said wheelchair bound man is, reportedly, one of the strongest mutants on the planet?” Darcy asked, pushing around a few items in her fridge, hoping for inspiration.

“Did Xavier bully you into this?” Jane demanded suddenly, as if the thought had just occurred to her.

Darcy sighed again, softer this time. “No." She paused to think about it. "And yes. I just…” she trailed off, unsure of how to word it. How could she explain the kinship she suddenly felt for this man who had nearly killed her? How could she explain the feeling in her chest when she recalled how he had sat at her feet, leaning drunkenly against her legs, his forehead pressed to her thigh and his mind spinning in circles of fear and torment? How could she explain that she finally felt as if she were getting somewhere with him, instead of beating herself bloody against a brick wall?

“He needs _someone_ Jane, and it looks like he’s chosen me. How can I say no?”

It was Jane’s turn to sigh on the line. “Darcy, he’s _dangerous_.”

“That he is,” she agreed, no longer paying much attention to the contents of the fridge. “But so are the majority of the people in this building. So am I. So is everything in your lab.”

“There’s a difference, Darcy, and you know it!”

“Is there, Jane?” Darcy countered calmly, closing her eyes and willing the caffeine she’d just inhaled to kick in. “I know that Banner isn’t here right now, but he’ll return at some point, and that man is a walking bomb waiting for detonation. Stark is basically a mad scientist and one day he really _will_ blow this place sky high, I’m sure of it. Then there’s Barton and Natasha, each of whom come with their own baggage, and from what I’ve heard about Natasha’s it’s eerily similar to James’, so where’s the difference, Jane?”

“He’s _unstable_ , Darcy. He doesn’t even know who he is, let alone who you are. How do you know he’s not going to snap back into something else and kill you in your sleep?”

“Jane, they’re all unstable to some degree or another. That’s what being traumatised does to you. Hell, I’m probably a little unstable myself.”

“Darcy, you’re not—”

“I’ve got a shit tonne of my own baggage, Jane, I do,” Darcy interrupted gently. “But I’ve been given the opportunity to work through my bullshit. Sort of.” She grimaced to herself. Darcy prided herself on being relatively self-aware. She had some issues, and she knew it. “Everyone else here has gotten that opportunity…again, sort of. James hasn’t had that chance. Don’t you think he deserves it?”

“Not at the cost of your life, no,” Jane said flatly. “Maybe that makes me a terrible person, but I don’t care. You’re more important than his mental health to me.”

Darcy smiled softly and let the fridge door swing shut before she leaned forward to press her forehead on the cool, smooth surface.

“I love you, too, Jane.”

Jane sighed on the other end, but didn’t say anything. Darcy could picture her in the lab, one hand covering her face in frustration, hair piled messily on top of her head, body slouched on one of the wheelie stools that Darcy _loved_ to slide from one end of the room to the other. She hadn’t known that office equipment could be ‘high end’ until she started working on Stark’s dime. Those stools glided like a sharp skate on freshly cleaned ice. Darcy had _plans_ for those puppies.

“It’ll be all right, Jane,” Darcy said, the words _I promise_ , on the tip of her tongue but she bit them back. She wasn’t in a position to be making any promises.

“You don’t know that,” Jane said softly. “But you’re an adult, and you can make your own stupid decisions.”

Jane’s tone made it perfectly clear what she thought of Darcy’s decisions, which made her smile just a little bit.

“You’re kind of the queen of stupid decisions, Jane dearest. Do you remember the time we broke a stranger, one who fell from the fucking sky I might add, out of a hospital and made him a fake ID so we could hide him from a shady government organization?”

“Hey! Key word there being _we_!”

“And which one of us spearheaded this endeavour?”

“HEY! That was a _joint decision_ and—”

Darcy turned around, the phone still pressed to her ear, and nearly bounced off the wall of muscle and cotton that blocked her path. 

"Holy shi—"

"What? Darcy! What?" Jane squawked in her ear.

Darcy pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart thudding in her chest as she took a step back and peered up into James' emotionless face. 

"It's fine, Jane," she said. “Just scared myself is all. Listen, can I call you back in a bit?"

"Darcy, no. You don't get to sign off like that with a psychopath in your apartment and not have me worry! _Don't make me come over there!_ "

"Jane, you would only be making things worse," she told her, still looking up at James. He glanced at her periodically, but his attention was focused on their surroundings, on the appliances of the kitchen, the large windows that let glorious sunlight in, the pantry door, _everything_. "I'll check in, hourly, okay?"

On the line, Jane groaned lowly in her throat, but Darcy knew that sound well. Jane was about to admit defeat. It was the same sound she made when Darcy harassed her into eating three meals a day, something that Darcy never thought she'd have to bully an adult into doing. 

"Fine. _Hourly_ , though. No excuses."

"Yes, mom," Darcy said sardonically, rolling her eyes a little. James did not react to her playful tone, nor to the words he could undoubtedly hear coming from Jane.

"Don't take the tone with me, or I'll ground you."

"Yeah, yeah. Love you, bye."

Once she'd hung up with Jane, Darcy slipped her phone into her back pocket and focused all of her attention on James. She waited until he met her eyes before she spoke.

"Are you hungry? When was the last time you ate?" she asked him softly. 

His lips compressed into a thin line and he looked away. She heard him inhale sharply through his nose and watched as his shoulders tightened to the point where they almost met his ears. Such a simple question, yet it clearly made him anxious. 

"Don't know."

His voice was deep, but soft. Barely there. She had to strain to hear him, even when he stood so close that she could feel the heat radiating off of him. Super serum, she reminded herself. He didn't have what Steve had, but there was no doubt in her mind that he had _something_. High school history class had covered his capture and rescue during the war, though the fact that he had clearly been experimented on was neatly glossed over. Having met Steve, and knowing what she now did of Erskine's serum, she'd bet her last penny that there was something _more_  swimming around in his veins. 

"That's okay," she told him, her voice pitched equally as soft. She'd follow his lead in this. "It's all right that you don't remember. Would you like something to eat now?"

He clearly hesitated, eyes darting to hers and away again. She swallowed thickly against the feeling rising up from her gut. She was no psychiatrist, and she was absolutely positive that she was wholly unprepared to help this man, but even she could see how much he struggled with questions that most people considered basic. 

"How about I tell you what your options are, and then you can choose, hmm?"

He glanced up at her, then down at her feet, but he nodded once and she considered it a victory. Turning on her socked feet smoothly, she pulled open the fridge doors once again.

"If you're anything like Steve, or Thor for that matter, I'm guessing you'll need a lot of protein," she said casually, surveying the contents of the fridge. She could feel him just behind her, off to the right. "Okaaaay, let's see here. We have some left over chicken parm from the night before, some old pizza that I should probably throw out," she reached into the fridge and pulled out the box, throwing it on the counter to be tossed, "there's eggs, baked salmon, and some lunch meat. Also fixings for a salad. Oooh. Or chicken nuggets, those are in the freezer."

She turned slightly to look at him over her shoulder and immediately realised her mistake. He looked...bewildered. His eyes roved over the selections before him, taking in the bottles of condiments, the water filter, the milk and juice, not to mention the containers of left overs, the little baggies of fresh vegetables and fruit. Clearly, too much information.

"All right, how about I make a suggestion?" She didn't wait for an answer before she turned and plucked the saran wrapped plate of chicken parmesan and held it up for his inspection. "How about I make you a sandwich or two with these? Breaded chicken, maranara sauce, and cheese slapped between a bun and toasty hot. Sound okay to you?"

He examined the plate she'd practically thrust under his nose, a small furrow between his brow, and slowly lifted his metal hand to prod gently at the clear plastic covering.

"That's saran wrap, or film wrap, or plastic wrap, depending on who you talk to. Keeps things from drying out in the fridge," she explained. Still holding the plate with one hand, she used her fingernails to catch the edge of it on the bottom of the plate and pulled it half off. "See?"

Again, he prodded the plastic, pinching it slightly between two metal fingers, but he nodded after a moment.

"Is that a yes to the sandwich or...?" Darcy trailed off. _Or have you decided that the saran wrap may live to see another day?_

He looked up at her, meeting her eyes for a second, before he licked his lips and spoke. "Yes," he said softly and after a moment's hesitation he added, "Please."

Darcy felt a smile spread slowly across her face. It was a small thing, a polite nicety that most people completely forgot about, but coming from him it meant so much more than a social obligation. He remembered the need to say please, furthermore, he actually _said_  it. 

"Chicken parmesean sandwich, coming right up," she told him, smile still lingering around her mouth. 

She turned and put the plate on the counter. In a few short minutes, she had plates down, the toaster oven warming, and extra cheese and sauce out of the fridge. She reached for the block of knives so she could cut into the hard block of mozzarella but she had barely closed her fingers around the handle before there were metal fingers wrapped around her wrist.

Instantly, her heart skipped, spluttered, and then leapt into a galloping race in her chest. She gasped and yanked her hand out of his, admittedly, loose grip. She turned to face him, shock and fear thrumming through her veins as she grasped her wrist in the same place that he had, her warm fingers replacing the sensation of cool metal against her skin.

James' eyes darted to her hand on her wrist, then up to her face, before he seemed to fold in on himself and stepped back.

Darcy's heart thumped painfully in her chest as she stood there, watching him as he watched the floor at their feet. When he looked up again, his eyes darting quickly to the block of knives on the counter, she felt the light bulb go off in her head and the breath that she had been holding in released with an audible _woosh_.

"I need a sharp knife to cut the cheese with," she explained softly, turning to point at the block. "I could use a butter knife, but it doesn't work as well."

He looked up at her, blue eyes piercing through her, and nodded slightly. His shoulders relaxed, ever so slightly. 

Slowly, Darcy reached for the knives, her eyes on him the entire time, but he didn't react this time, not even at the sound of metal sliding on metal as she pulled the knife from its sheath. She took a slightly shaky breath and picked up the block of cheese, turning her back to him as she began to slice. As she worked, she talked. She explained everything that she was doing, and why she was doing it. She described the appliances that she was using, what they did and how they worked. It was probably an overload of information, and he probably didn't understand all of her technical explanations about the heating coils in a toaster oven, but it ate up the silence between them and made her feel better. Besides, she reasoned with herself, every time she looked up at him he was paying attention, his eyes following her hands. Whether that was because he was watching weapons, or he was actually interested in what she was saying, she wasn't sure.

At least he was engaged, though. That was a _massive_  step forward.

And it was also a problem. 

James Barnes had been part of her life since the moment he was dragged through the doors of the Avengers Tower, barely conscious and held up between Sam and Steve, but while he had been contained to a hospital room, he had been separate from the rest of her life—at least physically. Now, however, he was in her apartment, in her kitchen, in her _life_. 

Suddenly, she felt like she was one hundred percent responsible for him in a way that she had only ever been responsible for herself. At 28, there was a reason why Darcy had _zero plans_  of procreating any time soon. She wasn't ready to be responsible for someone else's life and well being like this, she wasn't sure she'd ever be ready. But here she was, with a person to care for, and one with very, _very_  special needs.

It was all Xavier's fault, truthfully. He'd waited until the dust had settled in the common room and then sailed in, as easy as you please, and almost immediately declared that the best place for Sergeant Barnes would be with someone he trusted—at least somewhat—instead of locked in a hospital room or a cell. Darcy was too shell shocked and dazed to really object at the time, something that she was positive Xavier had counted on and exploited fully.

Of course, she could always go back on it, tell him and everyone else that it was too much and she couldn't deal. She could, but she knew she wouldn't. She forced herself to take a deep breath in through the nose, hands on the edge of the counter and her eyes glued to the toaster oven as it slowly heated the leftover chicken and sauce. Beside her, James was as still and silent as a statue as he watched the toaster oven as well, his face a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. It made her wonder how little exposure he'd had to the modern world outside of the context of warfare and espionage. He clearly had no idea what a fucking toaster oven was.

A thought occurred to her. "It's going to make a loud—" she began, but was cut off when the appliance let out a loud buzzing sound to announce to the apartment at large that it was done. James reacted like a cobra on the defensive. In the space of a heartbeat he had her shoved behind him and the largest knife from the block in his hand, his entire focus on the toaster oven.

 _My poor fucking heart_ , Darcy thought to herself as it spluttered and raced in her chest from the surge of adrenaline that shot through her the moment he sprung into action. He was protecting her from a _toaster_. Before she could contain it, a snort escaped her. She clapped a hand over her mouth; it wasn't funny, really, it wasn't. It was a sign of his complete separation from the world, but perhaps Darcy had finally reached her breaking point and gone over the edge because she could feel the hysterical giggle rising up from her gut and pushing its way through her throat. She lost control of it the moment James turned to eyeball her like _she_  was the crazy one in the room. Doubling over, she gave in and hung on to his shirt for support.

"I'm sorry," she gasped between laughter, one hand still over her mouth. Her cheeks were beginning to hurt but every time she looked up into his stoic, unamused face, she'd crack up again. "I'm sorry, it's not funny, I know it's not, but I can't stop." Her breath came out in wheezes, occasionally disrupted by a snort or a giggle. "I'm sorry."

Apparently realising that the danger was imagined, James slowly lowered the knife in his right hand and turned to her completely, forcing her to release his shirt and stand under her own will power. In a display that Darcy would only realise was an appearance of his true personality much, much later, James slowly arched a single eyebrow at her, clearly wondering if she'd lost her mind. Darcy had to bite down on both of her lips to keep from giggling again.

She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry," she said again, a smile still dancing around her lips. "I didn't think to warn you until it was too late. The toaster oven makes a loud noise so you can hear it anywhere in the apartment. If you leave the food in there too long, it can start a fire."

Neatly stepping around him, Darcy reached for her oven mitts and opened up the device, pulling the hot tray out and placing it on a mat on the counter. Her stomach rumbled audibly at the smell of the food and her hands had begun to shake ever so slightly. She imagined that her liver was in danger of being cannibalized by her stomach if she didn't get something into her body soon. Between the drama of the morning distracting her from basic things like eating (she was not usually like Jane, she listened to her body's needs), and the massive amount of energy she had expended in keeping James, Tony, and Steve from doing irreparable harm to themselves or each other, it wasn't surprising that her body was beginning to revolt. In fact, she was surprised that she was still standing and conscious after all that, with or without the horrendous caffeine drinks.

Quickly, she put together three sandwiches on the crusty buns that Tony had delivered from some expensive bakery in the heart of Manhattan (along with every other type of bread, pastry, or pie) and put two on a plate for him. He took it from her when she held it out to him, but didn't immediately bite into it until he saw Darcy begin to inhale hers, right where she was standing in the kitchen. Her mother taught her better manners, but hunger knows no master and she was fucking _ravenous_.

Copying her, James picked up a sandwich, took a bite, and promptly got a dollop of marinara sauce on his white t-shirt. Darcy smiled around her mouthful and swallowed quickly.

"Come, lets sit down like civilized people before you end up wearing more than you eat," she told him, gesturing with one hand for him to follow her out of the kitchen and toward the table she had for dining but that was mostly used as a drop zone for all of her shit. "Sorry, I wasn't exactly expecting guests."

He followed her quietly and sat in the seat that she cleared for him, demolishing the two sandwiches that she made for him in less than the time it took her to eat her one. When she asked him if he was still hungry, he sat silently under her scrutiny but his rumbling stomach answered for him. Without another word, Darcy got up and made him another sandwich with the last of the chicken, and pulled more food from the fridge to microwave for him. Salmon and vegetables went on a plate, while the fixings for a salad went into a bowl. He inhaled everything she put before him, and when she went to throw out the old, dry pizza, he made a small noise of protest. She reminded him that it was old and probably tasted like the greasy cardboard it came in, but he continued to eyeball the box.

"Waste not, want not," she said with a shrug, putting the box down in front of him.

It wasn't until she was watching him crunch down on the dried out crust that she remembered that this was a man who had grown up in abject poverty, had spent his formative years living through the Great Depression. It was no wonder that he made noises about wasting food; between his childhood and his treatment at the hands of Hydra, she shouldn't have been surprised.

When the last slice had been eaten in its entirety, Darcy cleared away the box and sat back down across from him. Leaning forward, she gave all the shit she'd shoved away another push and propped her chin up on her hand. It was getting harder and harder to keep her head up and her eyes open despite the copious amounts of caffeine she'd consumed. 

"So. The current plan is for you to stay with me. Here." She'd decided that one hundred percent honesty was the way to go with him. Something told her that hedging around the truth, or heaven forbid outright lies, wouldn't get her anywhere. He didn't seem stupid. Confused? Yes. Distrustful? God yes. Stupid? Doubtful. "How do you feel about that?"

She didn't really expect him to answer her, so she wasn't surprised by his silence and downcast eyes, but she had to try. She didn't know much about torture and brainwashing, but she imagined that regaining ones autonomy was an important part of the recovery process. As she watched him grow tenser and tenser under her scrutiny she made a mental note to do some research later.

"James?"

His shoulders came up as his head went down and Darcy bit back a sigh of frustration and sadness. She was _exhausted_. A bone deep weariness had settled itself inside her body and she longed for bed, but first she had to deal with the man before her, she had to get him settled somehow. Otherwise, she was likely to wake up with an assassin in her room or something equally terrifying.

"I know that you're not a big fan of talking right now," she said, an idea forming in her mind. Slowly, she slid her hand out across the table toward him. She'd been very, very careful not to accidentally touch him with her bare skin since they entered her apartment since she had no idea where she'd last left her gloves. They were probably somewhere in the ruins of the common room. 

"Do you want to show me?"

His eyes darted down to her hand, and then back up to her face. Wariness was etched in every line of his body. His shoulders went higher, the muscles in his back and neck tensing again. Darcy bit back the frustration, the irritation, that came with being overly tired and emotionally out of her depth.

"You remember what I can do, right?" she asked him. "Do you understand what touching my skin means?" He met her gaze for a second, less than a second really, before it darted away, but he nodded his head once in a short, sharp jerking motion.

"Good, I'm glad you remember," she said softly, leaving her hand where it was even though the edge of the table was beginning to dig into the bottom of her rib cage. "If it's easier, you can show me, but it's your choice, James. I won't force you."

He stared at her hand, his eyes wide and his body tense. He was so still she wondered if he had stopped breathing. It quickly became apparent that she should have thought things through, but jumping before she looked seemed to be her new motto in life. Her back quickly began to ache, the muscles protesting the awkward angle that she held her body at. The table continued to bore a hole in her ribs, but she dared not move, not even to push aside her plate so she could lean some of her weight on the wood. She feared that moving now would push him one way or another and Darcy knew instinctively that this decision had to be one _he_  made on his own. It was paramount that he started out his recovery as his own person. She didn't need to be a therapist to know that much.

Slowly, James reached out, and placed his shaking hand in hers.


	15. An apology, an explanation, and a promise

Hello everyone.

I bet you thought you'd never hear from me again. 

As the title says, I owe you an apology. I did a stupid thing, which was throwing a story up online before I had completed it, or even completed the outline. I done fucked up. Part of the reason why you haven't seen an update from this story for so long is because I've been struggling with how to fix it. I realised that my plot has several holes in it, and I just can't abide by a plot that doesn't make sense. So I'm starting anew.

I said it before, and I'll say it again: This fic will not be abandoned but it will be a complete rewrite so that holes are tied up and things make sense in the long run. I try to learn from my mistakes, so I will not be updating this fic until it is complete. 

The story overall is not going to change much so I'm hopeful that those of you who have enjoyed this story so far will still enjoy it when I'm done. I don't plan on deleting this current story, so if you have it on bookmark or subscribe you should get the notice when I start updating again (at least I think you will?).

Thank you, so very much, for all the comments and messages you guys have left.  
I'll see you on the other side!

AlexisDanaan

**Author's Note:**

> Things to note:  
> First Marvel fic.  
> I play fast and loose with canon.  
> I don't watch the Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D TV show. Honestly, I couldn't make it past the pilot.  
> Comments and suggestions are always welcome!


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